My 30-Day Sherlolly Challenge
by Bellarsam Chrisjulittle
Summary: My attempt at this fantastic month-long challenge I've seen so many other writers have fun with. You know the drill: I'll update one each day this month, as long as you read and review to keep me motivated! Here we go! Fluff and Sherlolly ahead!
1. Dreaming

**1\. Dreaming**

Even without the calming and firm presence of John in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was now much better at practicing better ways of dealing with boredom between cases. This evening, Sherlock stood by the window of his sitting room, playing his violin. He was just coming to the end of one of his favorite German pieces, and Sherlock didn't know what to play next. He flopped down into his armchair with a huff and started idly playing scales, not knowing what to play next.

Being bored to him meant that his mind was not presented with any kind of challenge, and Sherlock hated that. Since he did not know what composition to play next, and he _needed _to play in order to not do something drastic, Sherlock continued going through scales and keys, associating each with a person in his life.

John would definitely be an F-sharp major, the key that always expressed triumph over difficulty, the free sigh of relief when obstacles are conquered. John was a perfect example of someone who had suffered things that no man as good as him should go through, but who came through each not only valiantly but able to build himself up even stronger than before.

Mary would be a B minor, the key of strength and patience, commonly associated with those characters who are seeking redemption from a dark past.

Mycroft would be a D-flat major, a leering key that was never quite happy or sad.

Lestrade would be a D major, the common key for war-cries and soldier's marches, the sound of justice (cheesy at times).

Mrs. Hudson was easily a B-flat major, the key of cheerful and unconditional love and hope.

And Molly…_Molly…_Why did just the mere thought of her now give his whole being such a reaction, both stimulating and calming all at once? Almost of their own free will, his hands and fingers played the E-flat major key…the key of love and devotion, pure and simple…always a constant in his life.

Sherlock rose from his chair as he began to play in that key signature, until it became a slow and tender waltz. He closed his eyes as Molly's image filled his mind…

_He saw her in the lab, in her standard white lab coat and pony tail, but she was…dancing. She still was at work, but she moved gracefully to his music with a dreamy smile on her face. She got closer and closer to him, and he realized that _he _was approaching _her_. Molly turned on the spot and saw him. Her entire face lit up in a smile, and her hair fell down from its ponytail on its own. Sherlock smiled in return and before either knew it, they were dancing together._

_ In the standard waltz position, Sherlock led her with a firm but gentle hand. Molly self-consciously looked down at her feet; Sherlock chuckled which caused her to look back up._

_ "I didn't know you could dance so well," said Molly, still smiling._

_ "Mummy forced Mycroft and I into lessons as children," said Sherlock. He twirled her under his arm, and she spun with a giggle. He barely noticed that her white lab coat had become a lovely white gown. He wasn't even sure that they were in the lab anymore. And he didn't care at all – he was with her._

_ "But truthfully…and don't tell John…" Sherlock began dramatically, bringing her close to him again. She looked up at him curiously, and he smiled again. "I love dancing, always have."_

_ Molly laughed, but in an affectionate way not a mocking way. "Really? You do?"_

_ "Oh, yes. And, like everything else I put my mind to, I am _quite _exceptional at it. For example –" Without warning, Sherlock gently dipped Molly, causing her to squeak in surprise, but she came up laughing._

_ "Dear Sherlock…" she said softly before laying her head on his chest contentedly. Sherlock let his own head drop to rest against hers as they waltzed to the beautiful music he was creating in the ballroom of his mind palace he hadn't known existed before – but he would most definitely bring her here again._

_ Eventually, he brought his finger under her chin to lift her face up to his. He felt himself slowly bending his neck, his face coming closer and closer to hers…_

The sharp ringtone of his mobile caused Sherlock to end his beautiful composition on a wrong note and for his daydream to disappear in the blink of an eye. "For _FUCK'S SAKE_!" Sherlock roared, almost throwing his precious instrument onto his armchair.

"Language, young man!" Mrs. Hudson scolded. She had been standing in the doorway listening to him play, holding a plate of chocolate biscuits. Her stern expression then melted into the happy, indulgent one she had been wearing as he played. "Oh, that was _so_ lovely, Sherlock! I think it's even more beautiful than the one you composed for John and Mary. Save that one, young man, it's a keeper!" She placed the plate of chocolate biscuits on the coffee table. "Had to bring your favorite up after hearing that. Oh, Sherlock, it was just so lovely!"

Mrs. Hudson continued to praise and coo over the music as she walked back downstairs to her own flat. Despite his embarrassment of having daydreamed something so sappily romantic, and his frustration that his stupid mobile had interrupted it, Sherlock couldn't help but feel better hearing Mrs. Hudson's genuine praise. Hoping that the text he had received was from Lestrade with a new case for him, Sherlock picked up his mobile and opened his new message.

But it wasn't what he hoped for – it was even better.

**Hi, Sherlock! Thanks to the dearly departed Mr. Hansen, I've got a new brain for you. I know you've been wanting to do some experiments on a fresh one. Why don't I drop it off after my shift? xM**

Sherlock's face beamed into a huge smile, and he replied instantly.

**Absolutely. And pick up some take-out from Angelo's for yourself. I know you will be hungry after your shift, and I would like you to start one of the experiments with me. SH**

In a much better mood than he had been a minute ago, Sherlock picked up his violin from his chair and put it back in his case. Then he took out his notebook of blank music paper and began writing down his composition.

Mrs. Hudson was right – this one was a keeper.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hello my lovely readers! I've decided to try my hand at this 30-day challenge that so many writers have done. The start of a new month gave me the motivation to give it a try. This is going to be a fluff fest, except when the prompt calls for necessary tension. So send the reviews my way and it'll keep me going this month! _

_Now, something I wanted to give my opinion about, though it happened a while ago: the "Molly as wallpaper" controversy. First of all, I think that Mark Gatiss was more joking than serious when he said Sherlock now saw her as "moving wallpaper." Secondly, even if he wasn't joking, just remember: Mark has said that Molly was Steve's creation, so he can't take much credit. So, do I believe the man who called her "moving wallpaper," or the man who said that Sherlock loves and adores Molly? :) _


	2. Holding Hands

**2\. Holding Hands**

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" The consulting detective opened his eyes and turned his head marginally so that he could look at the woman who was in the seat beside him. She had a book open in her lap (_'Mansfield Park,' favorite Austen novel from her teenage years, copy nearly falling apart_), and her long hair hung over her left shoulder in a loose braid (_A wise choice for a plane ride, a ponytail would be uncomfortable, hair more lovely like this_).

"Are you ok?" she asked, her large eyes filled with concern.

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned his head to look out the window at the dark clouds obscuring his view of the English channel. "I'm absolutely –"

"Sherlock," interrupted Molly, a gentle reprimand in her voice. "You know better than to just say you are with me. Remember, I can see you."

He smiled to himself, knowing that she was absolutely right. "I wasn't going to lie. Physically, I am absolutely fine. I'm just…not overly fond of plane flights."

"Will you tell me why?" asked Molly.

Sherlock huffed a sigh. "It's too confined. The pressurized air, the limited space, not being able to open the window…people always associate flying with freedom, but not this kind of flying. And it doesn't help that this jet is –"

But Sherlock was interrupted by the arrival of the too-cheerful-to-be-real steward, who looked about ready to burst with every happy feeling. "Hello, sir and madam. Would you like anything to drink today? Well, obviously you're going to drink something today, or you would…Hmm, I wonder if your throat gets as dry as a desert, or maybe you faint from thirst…Gosh, would you be able to even talk?"

"No, thank you, Arthur," interjected Molly quickly, reading his nametag. She could see that Sherlock would have severely snapped at the steward if he had gone on any further, and the man looked much to genuine to deserve a snapping and insulting deduction from the consulting detective.

"Right-o. If you change your mind, just ring the bell and I'll come."

"Good to know you can do that," muttered Sherlock as the steward walked cheerily away, and Molly elbowed him. "Ow!"

"Just behave, ok? We're just a half hour away. At least the case wasn't in Australia or something."

"Fine."

Sherlock returned to looking out the window, and Molly returned to her book. However, this only lasted a few minutes. The dark clouds proved to be the restless kind, and soon the smooth gliding of the jet became bumpy and restless, increasing with each passing second. Molly shut her book so she could grip the armrests, and Sherlock returned to the stiff posture he had been sitting in when Molly had asked if he was ok.

A '_bing-bong' _sounded, and over an intercom came a voice that sounded to Molly like Stephen Fry's favorite uncle. "Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that the sky gods have favored us pilots by lending some excitement to this boring flight. Please fold up your trays and make sure your belts are fastened for this ride. If you feel the need to be sick, please put your head between your knees. The rest of you, raise your hands above your head and scream if you wanna go faster!"

The pilot speaking gave a joyful "_Woo-hoo!_" while what must have been his co-pilot could be heard to exclaim, "_Douglas!_" in the background before the intercom turned off.

Sherlock cursed under his breath, and Molly let out a nervous and breathy laugh. The turbulence increased, and when the plane gave a particularly violent shake, Molly felt something warm cover and crush her right hand. Looking down, she saw that Sherlock's much larger hand was covering and crushing her small one. Raising her head to look at him, she saw that he was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, his head against the headrest, his eyes shut as tightly as his jaw was clenched.

Thankfully, the turbulence slowed and finally ended within the next minute. The familiar '_bing-bong_' sounded in the small cabin again, and the voice of the co-pilot was heard, stuttering and just an octave above Sherlock's voice.

"Um, ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. I do _profoundly_ apologize for my first officer and his _madly misjudged _attempt at humor. In fairness, the statistics of a plane being brought down by turbulence are incredibly low, so there was really nothing to worry about beyond a few minutes discomfort." Sherlock snorted. "A-Anyway, you will be happy to know that we do not expect to find any more cause for turbulence before we land in London in precisely twenty-seven minutes time. Thank you and enjoy the rest of the flight."

The intercom turned off, and everyone settled back in their seats to their normal positions. Well, almost everyone…

"Um…Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock turned his head to Molly, whose cheeks were pink and who had a small smile on her face.

"I can't feel my fingers."

Looking down at their hands, Sherlock quickly lifted his left hand off her right hand, which she promptly flexed. "Apologies, Molly, I did not mean to cause you any discomfort."

Then, to Molly's immense surprise, Sherlock took that hand back and began massaging it with his own long-fingered hands. When the regular color seemed to return to her fingers, Sherlock turned his head towards her and asked, "Better?"

Molly, who didn't trust her voice to come out in lower than a squeak, nodded her head.

Sherlock smirked, said, "Good," and looked back out the window while lacing his fingers through her own, letting their hands rest in his lap for the rest of the flight.

Molly had no inclination to complain, and the blush remained in her cheeks even after they had landed.

* * *

**A/N: **_Wow, you guys! What a great response to my first chapter! Glad you all feel the need for Sherlolly, because let's be honest – we can never have enough! I'm going to try and make all of these prompts exist in the same universe if possible, and the next one will be a direct continuation of this one. _

_Read and review, please!_

_P.S. Anybody who knows the name of the jet Sherlock and Molly are traveling on and the company and crew it belong to are AWESOME!_


	3. Cuddling

**3\. Cuddling**

All three of the Watsons were waiting for Sherlock and Molly at the arrivals' gate of Heathrow. Since the birth of little Emma, John only took on cases with Sherlock that were close to home and wouldn't take him away from his family for too long. He was very grateful to Molly for filling in when he couldn't; Sherlock really did do better on cases when he had a right-hand man (or woman). Mary was just as grateful to Molly, and hoped that her spending more time with Sherlock out of St. Bart's would make the two of them realize that they were perfect for each other. Her husband was much more skeptical about this happening, but Mary was much more hopeful.

"Of course I think she's perfect for him!" John had told her the first time Mary had confided her hopes to him. "What other woman could understand and accept that genius idiot as well as her? But you've heard what he's said about these kinds of attachments and feelings."

"You just wait," Mary had replied. "Molly's had already planted a seed in his mind and heart that has grown more than he knows. He's incredibly fond of her, and honestly, I don't think he could do without her."

When they saw Sherlock and Molly emerge from the crowd and spot them – specifically the fact that Sherlock carried both his _and _Molly's overnight bags – Mary gave John a smug smile before greeting them both enthusiastically. "Welcome back! Hope the case was worth a plane ride."

"Not _that _plane ride," muttered Sherlock, who handed his own bag to John absently before making his way towards the nearest exit. The rest of them followed with good-natured eye rolls.

"The jet we had to book to get home tonight was…interesting, to say the least, and we had some scary turbulence," Molly explained before a huge yawn escaped. "Oh, gosh, sorry. Sherlock kept me on my feet from the moment we got there, it seems."

"I know the feeling," said John. He smiled at Emma, riding in the carrier strapped to her mother's chest, as she played with Molly's proffered fingers. "We'll get you home first so you can take care of yourself."

"Oh, thank you," said Molly through another big yawn.

* * *

Soon everyone was packed into the Watsons' car. John drove with Mary in the passenger's seat. Emma was in the carrier strapped to the seat right behind her father. Sherlock sat right behind Mary and Molly sat in the middle. Sherlock wasted no time in immediately telling the Watsons about the antique smuggling case in France he and Molly had returned from. Molly kept quiet, feeling much too tired to contribute when Sherlock was more than capable of telling the story himself.

Not long into the story, Sherlock paused when he felt a weight fall onto his left shoulder. Turning his head, Sherlock saw that it was Molly's head. And based on the steady, deep breathing pattern she had fallen into, Molly had fallen asleep. Automatically, through no conscious decision of his own (not that he really objected), Sherlock gently raised his left arm and wrapped it around his sleeping pathologist. After all, her jacket wasn't nearly thick enough for this kind of weather. In response, Molly subconsciously snuggled closer to him with a soft moan. And if Sherlock's cheek rested against Molly's head when he told the rest of the story, Sherlock didn't mind at all.

The Watsons witnessed all of this in the rearview mirror with barely repressed grins. They determinedly kept their mouths shut though, in case Sherlock's adorable actions would cease. Mary gave his husband a look that was plain as day:

_I told you so._

And John was more than happy his wife was right.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hello, readers! This one is short but oh so sweet, as I'm sure many of these ficlets will be. And, in case anybody didn't know, the plane and crew I used in the last fic was that of _Cabin Pressure, _a radio comedy by John Finnemore. Benedict is in it, and plays a character that is SO not Sherlock but no less lovable. Read and review, please!_


	4. GamingWatching a Movie

**4\. Gaming/Watching a Movie**

Molly was just packing up her purse in the locker room when her mobile buzzed with an incoming call. She saw John's name on the caller ID and answered.

"Hello, John."

"Hi, Molls. Are you working right now?"

"I just got done with my shift, why?"

"Well, I'm sorry to ask, but could you go to Baker Street and check on Sherlock? He's not answering his phone, and Mrs. Hudson says she's scared to go up there, hearing a lot of shouting and cursing."

Molly's brow immediately furrowed in concern. It was a very bad sign if Mrs. Hudson felt too intimidated to face the consulting detective.

John continued. "I'd go myself, but Mary's working and I don't want to bring Emma to Baker Street if –"

"No, of course I'll go," said Molly hastily, trying to slip her coat on quickly while still talking to John. "Don't worry, I'll find out what's going on and try to calm him down. I'll update you later."

"Thanks, Molls, you're a lifesaver."

"I know, what would any of you do without me," she joked, and they ended the call. In the next minute, Molly was making her way to Baker Street.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson just about flung her arms around Molly when she answered the door. "Oh, thank goodness you're here, dear! I can't take much more, and what will the neighbors think?!"

"I'll see what's going on, Mrs. Hudson," replied Molly, hugging the woman back before making her way in and up to 221B. When she got to the door, Molly could hear what could only be Sherlock muttering to himself. She knocked but she heard no movement and the muttering didn't cease. Suddenly, she heard a slew of curse words to make a sailor blush at top volume.

_All right, no more miss nice girl, _thought Molly, and opened the door herself.

Sherlock was seated in his armchair, and he looked a real mess. His hair was even more voluminous than usual, like he'd run his fingers through it too many times to count. He wore his maroon dressing gown over a shirt and pants that looked like they'd been on his body for too long; his feet were bare. He was hunched over his iPhone, which he was holding horizontally. The muttering had resumed.

Now that Molly was inside the flat, she could hear the sounds coming from his phone, which were familiar to her. It took her a few seconds before she realized what it was, since she had only played it a few times months ago.

_You have _got _to be kidding me! _ Molly covered her mouth to hide her giggles, and quickly took a photo of Sherlock with her mobile before calling his name. No response.

"Sherlock," she called again, more loudly, and stepped closer.

Still no response.

She repeated this several times before finally losing patience. With a bravery that was pretty foolish, Molly stepped up to Sherlock and grabbed his phone.

"Hey!" he yelled, looking up only to just realize he was not alone. "Molly, give me that back!"

"I think you've had enough Candy Crush for one day, Sherlock," said Molly, exiting the game.

"Molly, _no!_" Sherlock cried, getting up from his chair and trying to take the phone from her.

"Sherlock, really, you've had enough," said Molly, keeping hold of the phone. _We must look like children fighting over a toy._

"Please, I just need to finish this level!"

"Sherlock, enough!"

"_Let go, Molly!_"

Sherlock, being the most physically strong of the two, pulled hard and got the phone. But as a result, the force of the pull caused Molly to lose her balance. She fell onto the hardwood floor squarely on her bum with a cry and grunt. Sherlock paled and his eyes widened, looking at Molly on his floor.

Looking pained and _very _annoyed, Molly huffed a sigh and raised herself to her feet. "Ok, Sherlock. You want to waste those extraordinary brain cells of yours? Go right ahead. Just please keep the volume down. You're scaring Mrs. Hudson."

Molly had stomped out of 221B with a slammed door before Sherlock could say a word.

* * *

An hour later, Molly was in her own flat. She'd just finished a quick dinner and was settling onto her sofa to watch a movie with Toby. She always preferred a quiet night in after a day of work. And after her encounter with Sherlock, Molly was more than happy to he having a night to herself.

Or so she thought before there came a knock on her front door.

Molly had just been about to start her movie, and she put down the remote control with an eye roll. She knew perfectly well who it would be, and she found she was right when she opened the door.

There stood Sherlock, his hands clasped behind his back and that puppy dog look on his face. "I am sorry. Forgive me."

A few years ago, Molly would have melted on the spot. Now she just sighed and asked, "Candy Crush?"

"Has been deleted from my phone…Are you all right?"

Molly relented and gave him a small smile. "My bum is still a bit sore, but I'm fine. Thank you for asking. Have you apologized to Mrs. Hudson for the noise and John for ignoring his calls?"

"Yes," said Sherlock like a reprimanded child.

Molly gave a nod. "Good."

A moment of awkward silence followed, Molly in her doorway and Sherlock in front of it. He broke the silence almost timidly. "Can…I come in?"

Molly bit her lip. "I was just about to watch a movie, so you'll find no excitement off-screen here."

"What movie?" asked Sherlock, ignoring her last comment.

"_Psycho._"

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "Interesting. I may have heard of it once…" His eyes widened in horror. "It's not one of those saccharine romantic comedies, is it?"

Molly laughed outright, holding onto her front door. "Oh no, it is _not_." She paused. "If I let you in, will you promise to be quiet? This is one of my favorite movies, and I know how vocal you can be in front of a screen."

"Promise, I'll be quiet. And if I have a question, I'll just pause the movie so you can answer it."

Molly shook her head fondly and opened the door a bit more for him. "All right, be my guest. I think you might like this movie, actually. The score is performed with only string instruments."

"Really? Then what are we waiting for?" said Sherlock, who looked positively delighted. He walked inside Molly's flat and Molly shut her front door still smiling.

* * *

An hour later found the two of them engrossed in Alfred Hitchcock's masterpiece of suspense. Sherlock and Molly were sitting on the sofa. Well, Molly was anyway. Sherlock was lying down, his head in Molly's lap as he watched the film. One of Molly's hands was absently playing with his curls. He knew that she probably didn't even know she was doing it, but Sherlock wasn't about to complain.

It felt, like the film, quite exceptional.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hello readers! I couldn't pick one or the other, so I included both. I think we all know that Sherlock would be like that if he was ever introduced to one of those games (how hilarious would that be!). And I think he would like _Psycho _(fantastic film, by the way), especially if Molly is petting him like that. Read and review, please!_


	5. On A Date

**5\. On A Date**

"Hello, Molly."

The pathologist jumped a bit and turned her head to the consulting detective, who was standing inside the doorway of her office. Molly set down her pen on top of her paperwork and turned to him in her chair. "Hello, Sherlock. What can I do for you? I haven't had any bodies come in that would be interesting to you. You want to start a new experiment?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Sherlock hastily replied. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, and clasped his hands behind his back. "I would like you to accompany me to a concert tonight."

Sherlock had Molly's full attention now, since he was saying words she never expected to hear come out of his mouth. "A…a concert?"

"Yes. I know that you have no plans tonight, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would accompany me."

"Well…" said Molly, still feeling quite confused. "What kind of concert?"

"Joshua Bell. He'll be playing a selection of German pieces that I'm quite fond of. German music is much more introverted than French or Italian, I find, and with the case I am on right now, introspective is what I need to be."

"If you don't even eat when you're on a case, why would you go to a concert? Wouldn't that be a waste of time?"

"Perhaps if the circumstances were different. Thankfully, this particular case does not call for my action until tomorrow night, when I believe the criminals – highly elite and dangerous robbers, in this case – will make their move. However, I do need to work out my plan of catching them red-handed, which has never happened before, and to do that, I need to expose my mind to the correct stimulants."

Molly slowly nodded her head, her confusion clearing. Her only theory as to why he would be asking her to accompany him anywhere outside the morgue would be for a case, but…

"Why do you need me to come? I'm sure you could go by yourself or with John."

Sherlock got the same look on his face that he had gotten when she had asked why he and John couldn't just do underground stations on the doctor's stag night. "Of course you have to come, Molly! Without you, the entire thing is pointless!"

He said this with such conviction that Molly decided not to push the matter. Anyway, why would she protest against going to a concert of lovely violin music with the most talented violin player of their generation?

"Of course I'll go with you, Sherlock, if you really want me to."

Sherlock grinned and nodded his head. "Good, and I do. I'll pick you up at half past six."

He turned to go, but stopped when Molly spoke. "Um…is this a very formal place, Sherlock? I wouldn't want to dress too casually."

"The dark blue cocktail dress you have in your closet still fits you and will more than suffice, especially if you wear your heirloom lace shawl from your grandmother and your favorite low-heeled shoes." He turned his head to look at her. "And please wear your hair down," he said before walking out with a bounce in his step.

Molly sat stunned for a minute, then shook her head and returned to her paperwork with a bit more excitement now that she had something to look forward to.

* * *

In the cab ride back to her flat, with Sherlock sitting beside her, Molly was still in awe of how..._lovely_ her evening with Sherlock had been. Not that Molly didn't love spending Sherlock in the morgue, on cases, or with the Watsons, but this had felt different, a _good _different.

Sherlock had picked her up right on time, looking as handsome as ever in one of his suits and his trademark coat. He had offered her his arm when their cab arrived at the concert hall. Their seats were in a private box (one of the ushers had been a former client), and the music had been truly lovely.

While listening to the beautiful music, Molly would alternate looking at Joshua Bell and Sherlock. The consulting detective looked perfectly happy in a way she had never seen before. She had seen how perfectly happy he could be when he was on a case and made a breakthrough, but as this had been a different kind of outing for them, this was a new kind of happiness. While Sherlock on a case was a bundle of energy never able to stay still, this Sherlock was absolutely relaxed, languidly moving his long fingers in time to the rhythm, his eyes closed in bliss.

Molly wished that she could take a photo of him like this, to remember it forever since she didn't have a mind palace, but she didn't dare disrupt his mood.

What Molly didn't know was that nearly each time her eyes were on Joshua Bell, Sherlock's eyes, softly glowing with a dreamlike content, were watching her.

Neither did much talking that evening, for there had been no need to fill the silence or ruin the music with idle chatter. But when the cab pulled up to Molly's flat, and Sherlock walked her up to the door of her flat, Molly felt that she just _had _to express her gratitude in words.

But before she could, Sherlock had lowered his head and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment before straightening up again.

Both cheeks heating up considerably, Molly asked in a quiet voice but with a tiny smile, "What was that for?"

Confusion flashed across Sherlock's features. "Isn't it customary for the man to kiss the woman at the end of a date?"

Molly's eyebrows lifted in surprise and happiness she wasn't ready to believe in. "You said this was for a case."

"While the music and having you with me gave my mind the perfect atmosphere it needed to construct a delicate plan, ultimately it wasn't vital," said Sherlock. "And didn't I tell you that if you did not come, the whole outing would be entirely pointless? I can't very well go on a date with you if you're not there." He paused, looking uncertain. "Did you…not want it to be a date?"

Now Molly let herself smile. So _this _was why this had been a good different to all of the other times she had spent time with him. "Of course I did. I've wanted to go on a date with you for longer than I care to admit. I just wish you had told me when you asked me that it would be a date."

"Noted," said Sherlock. "Can we go on another date? This was quite enjoyable."

"I would like that very much," said Molly right away.

"Good…Well, goodnight Molly."

He looked a bit awkward as he turned to leave, and Molly stopped him with a hand on his arm. Stretching up on her tiptoes, Molly cupped his left cheek and kissed his right cheek. "Goodnight, Sherlock," she said sweetly.

Molly didn't miss Sherlock's pink cheeks and tiny smile before he walked towards he lift, and Molly didn't even try to control her own smile and blush as she let herself into her flat. Leaning against the door once inside, Molly resolved to think about where this may lead (both the good and the bad, some other time.

For now, she wanted to imprint in her memory the best date of her life.

* * *

**A/N: **_So they are finally crossing the line from friends to more! The date was inspired by the Sherlock Holmes short story, _The Red-Headed League, _possibly my favorite of the short stories. In it, Sherlock and John go to a violinist concert before catching the criminals red-handed. I paraphrased from the story quite a bit. Please read that story (all of the stories!) and please review!_


	6. Kissing

**6\. Kissing**

"How do you feel about kissing, Molly?"

The unexpected and blunt question shouldn't have surprised Molly, who knew Sherlock so well, but it did. It stopped her in her tracks for a moment on the path in Kensington Gardens, where her and Sherlock were taking an afternoon stroll. This was their third official date.

Less than a week after their first date, which had been so lovely, Sherlock took Molly to dinner at Angelo's for the second date. While this second date had been just as lovely, there had been quite a bit more talking than there had been on the first date. Molly, knowing that this was a date going into it this time, had asked Sherlock the questions she knew needed to be asked, considering their history. Sherlock, to his credit, had answered each question as best and honestly as he could. At the end of the second date, when Sherlock had enveloped her in an embrace at her door, Molly felt comfortable and secure in the newfound knowledge that Sherlock's feelings for her were strong and his intentions were true.

Now, in the middle of their third date, Sherlock had brought Molly to the subject of an aspect of their new relationship that had never been addressed before. They had been walking for only ten minutes, and Sherlock had been amusing Molly by deducing the people they passed in a low voice only she could hear.

"I…" said Molly, resuming their walk and keeping her eyes on the path in front of her while her cheeks burned. "It would be a big help if you told me how _you _feel about it before I answer that, because I need to work that out."

Thankfully, Sherlock gave a nod and told her as they kept walking: "I do not mind giving pecks on the cheek or forehead to my mother, Mrs. Hudson, Mary or you, and never have. Romantic kissing, however, never appealed to me. I never saw the appeal in smashing lips together, tongues touching and exchanging saliva. Quite frankly, I thought it disgusting. Even when I was with Janine, who was pleasing enough on the eye, I _loathed _having to kiss her and act like I enjoyed it."

Molly pursed her lips for a moment, trying to control the sourness she always felt whenever she was reminded of the role Sherlock had played to Janine. When she felt Sherlock pat her hand resting in the crook of his elbow, she looked up at him and the slightly worried and reassuring expression on his lovely face. She smiled at him to let him know that no damage was done, and he relaxed.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me," said Molly, their walk continuing. "You're not someone who naturally indulges in physical contact, and you were lying to Janine so of course you wouldn't enjoy contact with her.

"Now, to answer the question myself…in general, I think kissing is an act that can only be really enjoyed if you _want _to do it with the person you're doing it with. That's also how I feel about it personally. If you specifically want to know how I feel about kissing _you…_" Molly looked up at Sherlock with flushed cheeks and honest eyes. "I like the idea very much." Her smile faltered as she asked a necessary question. "How do you…feel about kissing me?"

Sherlock looked at her, the corners of his lips turned up, and perhaps a twinkle in his eye. "You are the first person whom I would not be adverse to kissing romantically, Molly. In fact, the thought is quite appealing."

Molly blushed and rested her cheek against his forearm for a moment in a gesture of flattered gratitude and relief.

When she looked back up at Sherlock, his expression had become more serious. "Molly, when I told John about how my feelings and intentions for you had changed, he told me that just because I had successfully faked a relationship before did not mean this would come to me easy and naturally. I've come to realize that he is right. You're right: I'm not someone who is natural at or altogether comfortable with most forms of physical contact, but I want to be comfortable in that aspect of our relationship with you."

Molly stopped their walk and took his hands. "We'll take things slowly, Sherlock. I'd prefer that, too, to be honest. Even though I've wanted this for a long time, the fact that this is really happening now…it's sometimes hard to believe it's real. So even though I have more experience with relationships than you, understand that I'm just as nervous as you are."

"So…what do we do?" asked Sherlock, holding onto her hands securely, like the lifesaver she was to him.

"We keep talking to each other with complete honesty, especially when something new or challenging comes up, and just take this one day at a time."

Sherlock smiled adoringly at her, and kissed her hand before saying, "That is a very good idea, Molly Hooper."

* * *

When they had arrived at the door to Molly's flat, the pathologist turned to him intending to kiss him on the cheek in farewell, but the expression on his face stopped her. He looked nervous, curious, intent and adoring all at the same time. And before she could ask what he wanted to say, he said it:

"May I kiss you, Molly? Romantically?"

Molly's heart had never felt so full – and her cheeks had never felt so pleasantly hot – when she heard that. "Yes, you may, Sherlock," she replied sweetly.

Sherlock stepped closer to Molly until their bodies were nearly touching, and raised his hands to gently cup her face. Molly stood still, wanting to let Sherlock take this important stepping stone at his own pace (for Molly, who had wanted to kiss him since she'd first lain eyes on him, she wouldn't have cared how it happened, it was happening!). Slowly, he leaned down, and their foreheads touched while their eyes stared into each others, their breaths mingling.

Finally, Sherlock lowered his gaze to her mouth (which wasn't too small at all, but perfect) and Molly's gaze lowered to his (_oh, God, those Cupid's bow lips are perfect_). He leaned down – both aqua and brown eyes closed – and brushed his lips across hers gently before their mouths pressed together in a kiss.

It wasn't a passionate kiss, the kind that make you see fireworks and hear bells ringing. But it was a sweet kiss, the kind that filled you with warmth all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. In other words, a perfect first kiss.

Two more kisses followed quickly after the first before Sherlock lifted his head and their eyes opened. Both smiled in pure relief and joy, now more confident than ever that this new relationship was absolutely right.

* * *

**A/N: **_I hope I delivered on a prompt that I know you were all looking forward to. Oh, aren't they so sweet together? Why can't Moffat and Gatiss just see what we can see as clearly as Molly sees Sherlock: they are just PERFECT for each other! Read and review, please!_


	7. Wearing Each Other's Clothes

**7\. Wearing Each Other's Clothes**

At the end of her shift, Molly was on her way out of the lab when she spotted something next to Sherlock's microscope (well, technically it was hospital property, but since Sherlock never used another at St. Bart's, she always thought of it as his). Lying across the metal table beside the microscope were his Belstaff coat and scarf.

Molly was surprised, to say the least. In the five, nearly six, years that Molly had known Sherlock, he'd never left anything behind at Bart's, least of all his coat and scarf he never went outdoors without. She thought back to a few hours ago, when Sherlock and John had been here working on the most recent baffling murder case Lestrade had given them. He'd had a breakthrough when examining a soil sample left behind by the killer, and he'd rushed out the door with just a joyful exclamation with John running after him. Molly had just smiled, texted Lestrade, and went back to her own work.

Glad to be given an excuse to see Sherlock, Molly gathered up his coat and scarf before going to collect her own stuff.

When she stepped outside of the hospital, the wind had picked up speed and the temperature had dropped. In her raincoat, Molly shivered, wishing that she'd had the foresight to wear a more practical coat today. Then Molly looked down at the coat and scarf she had carefully folded over her left arm.

The temptation was much too strong to resist. Carefully, Molly wrapped the dark blue scarf around her neck and put on his coat, wrapping it around her before continuing to walk. Because he was a head taller than her, the hem of the coat brushed against her ankles as she walked. It was wonderfully warm, and the scent of him filled her nostrils. She had a dreamy smile on her face the entire way to Sherlock's flat.

Arriving at Baker Street, Molly didn't know whether Sherlock would be home or still out on the case cornering the killer. But when she caught sight of Sherlock's window, she saw the light on and a shadow pass by. Smiling, she entered the building (Mrs. Hudson had given her a key after Sherlock's return from the dead) and walked up to 221B.

Sherlock answered the door soon after she knocked, wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants under his blue dressing gown. He looked both surprised and delighted at the sight of, not just Molly, but Molly wearing his clothes. "Well, hello."

"Hello," said Molly, grinning. "You left these in the lab, so I thought I'd return them. It was cold outside, so I hope you don't mind."

Sherlock took Molly's hands and pulled her into his flat, closing the door behind her. "Why would I mind? Considering how tiny you are, you look ridiculously adorable." He paused, and looked taken aback. "I can't believe I just used that phrase," he said, with a bit of disgust.

Molly laughed and lightly slapped his arm. "Neither can I, and I am _not _tiny."

Sherlock wrapped her in an embrace, and held her head to his chest. "If I can easily rest my chin on the top of your head," he said, doing just that, "that means you're tiny."

"No, it means you're tall," said Molly, quite comfortable in his arms.

Sherlock laughed and held her a bit closer for a moment. Eventually, feeling a bit too warm in both Sherlock's coat and Sherlock's embrace, Molly took a step back. She lowered her gaze to the floor to hide her blush, and when she did so, her eyes caught sight of his feet…

"Sherlock…are those my socks?!"

Molly looked from his feet, which were clearly clad in her large, fuzzy socks that had pink kitten faces on them that she wore at night in the winter when walking around her flat, to his face his face.

Feigning nonchalance, Sherlock shrugged and said indifferently, "They're warm, and there's a draft," before making his way towards the kitchen. But his red face had given him away to Molly.

Grinning, Molly followed him into the kitchen, where he was filling up a glass of water. She cupped his cheek, went on her tiptoes, and kissed his lips. When she pulled away, Sherlock was grinning at her. "That's the first time you've kissed me like that."

And it was true. It had been three weeks since their first kiss, and the kisses they had exchanged since then had all been initiated by Sherlock. Not only was he pleased that she had kissed him, but that she felt confident enough to kiss him without irrationally fearing he wouldn't want her to.

Pleased with herself and falling deeper in love with him, Molly replied, "Well, when you are being ridiculously adorable, how could I resist?"

And before he could say anything, such as, "I am not adorable!", Molly pulled him down for another sweet kiss.

* * *

**A/N: **_This was a tough one, readers. Usually, wearing each other's clothes in these fics indicates that they are physically intimate and/or living with each other. I didn't want to jump too far ahead in their relationship yet. So, yes, this is very fluffy, but you all knew that's what you're getting in these fics! Read and review, please!_


	8. Shopping

**8\. Shopping**

Sherlock was used to blending in when he needed to in London. Being a consulting detective, it was a very necessary skill in order to observe, follow, and discover any place in London that he needed to. However, now he stood in the middle of a place where he stuck out like an ugly ink stain on one of Molly's cheerful jumpers. And Molly couldn't help the giggles that came at the sight.

The two of them were shopping for a birthday gift for the littlest Watson, and as a result, were in a toy store. Sherlock, surrounded by pastel colors, stuffed animals, and every kind of childhood wonder constructed in plastic, had never looked more out of place or uncomfortable. He was looking around at everything, as if glaring at them would tell the inanimate objects not to jump on him; it was certainly enough for the other shoppers, kids and parents alike, to avoid going near him.

Laughing, Molly walked up to him and took his hand, pulling him down an aisle. "Come on. Let's not dawdle and get this done quickly before you start deducing the defenseless toys."

Sherlock groaned, looking like he was being led to a torture chamber. "Oh, I cannot _wait _until our goddaughter is old enough that we can get her far more substantial gifts than anything to be found in one of these…places."

"I know, I know," said Molly, still smiling fondly to herself. "But until then, this will have to do. I don't want to get any necessities as a present; those were always the presents I hated as a child."

"Yes," Sherlock couldn't help agreeing. "Uncle Rudy always gave Mycroft and me silk socks…hardly a necessity for either of us, but either way…"

Molly had paused in her steps in front of a stuffed animal display. Looking at it, Sherlock thought that each of them looked somewhat familiar. Molly had knelt down in front of the smallest ones, which didn't surprise him because they consisted of light pink and magenta. Molly picked one of them up and held it lovingly.

"I had a Piglet just like this when I was little, ever since I was a baby…I took it with me everywhere, whispered all of my secrets to it…he was always my favorite character because he was just as small and timid as I was…a kindred spirit, so to say…"

In the next moment, Molly had gotten up with a small head shake, and gave Sherlock a smile. She still held the Piglet in her hands, though her eyes were a bit brighter than they had been a minute ago. "Well, I've found my gift."

Sherlock gave her a soft smile that only lasted a moment before looking at the stuffed animal display again. "You go ahead and buy it. I need to dig something up."

Molly nodded, knowing that he meant his mind palace, and squeezed his hand before walking down the aisle to the register.

* * *

Five minutes later, Sherlock joined Molly just outside of the toy store in the mall. In his hand he held a shopping bag, and Molly saw the stuffed head of a very familiar yellow bear peaking out. The bear looked to be as big as Emma. Molly looked at him curiously.

Sherlock shuffled his feet as he answered. "Before we got Redbeard, I had a large bear similar to this. It was always more…comforting to have something hold onto at night…"

The consulting detective had never looked so embarrassed, but he managed to make eye contact with Molly – which meant he trusted her enough to confide something so personal, just as she had done.

If they weren't in a public place, Molly would have kissed and hugged him on the spot. But both had agreed that PDA was not something they wanted to indulge in. So Molly looped her arm through his, rested her cheek against his forearm, and said, "Come on. There's still half a liver from Mrs. Summerson that we can have fun with at Bart's."

Looking infinitely more happy than he had been in the toy store, Sherlock led his lady away and out of the mall.

* * *

**A/N: **_Another tough one. I didn't want to do anything standard, such as clothes shopping. So I finally settled on this idea after looking at a picture of myself as a toddler with my beloved piglet doll. Hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will be a follow-up to this one. Read and review, please!_


	9. Hanging Out With Friends

**9\. Hanging Out With Friends**

Mary came back into the living room of her home with a satisfied smile on her face. "She was out like a light," she said, sitting down on the arm of her husband's favorite chair and running her fingers along the back of his neck affectionately.

John smiled too, and rubbed her knee. "I suppose the excitement of today was more than enough to get her to fall asleep quickly."

Mary turned her head to look at Sherlock and Molly, who were seated next to each other on the sofa. "I will say, though, that she wouldn't settle until she had both of your presents in the crib with her." Her smile widened.

"I'm glad of that," said Molly sincerely. "It was…a bit of a journey to find appropriate gifts."

Greg laughed. "I still wish you were able to get a photo of him in a toy store. That's one scenario that is _very _difficult to imagine."

"And for good reason," grumbled Sherlock.

"Well, the result was very successful," said John sincerely, and the two best friends exchanged a small smile.

"Yeah, smart move, those toys," said Greg.

"Absolutely," said Mrs. Hudson, smiling fondly at the new couple. "And now, when you have your own little ones, you'll have a much better idea of what to look for in those shops!"

Sherlock, who had been taking a sip of coffee, spit it back into the mug with a whooping cough. Molly, red as a tomato, stuttered as she replied, "M-Mrs. Hudson, we've only been dating for a few months! Can we change the subject, please?"

She looked around to the others, who looked equally as uncomfortable, a desperate plea in her eyes. Thankfully, Greg threw Molly the lifesaver and immediately set into the story of how he and his team had successfully caught a mafia family stealing high-end jewels red-handed. Even Sherlock listened politely, his hand having slipped into Molly's. Molly held it just as tightly.

* * *

Greg had taken Mrs. Hudson back to Baker Street shortly after, since she needed her next herbal soother and Greg had to go pick up his kids from their mother's. With Emma still napping, Molly helped Mary with the dishes in the kitchen, giving them a chance for some girl talk.

"You ok, Molls?" asked Mary gently. "I mean, I know Sherlock had a more theatrical reaction, as he usually does –"

"I'm absolutely fine, Mary," replied Molly calmly and honestly. "We all know how Mrs. Hudson is. John told me that she still believed he and Sherlock were together all the way up to the point you two met." They laughed before Molly sobered again. "Seriously though, Mary, the two of us are taking it day by day. So far, I think he's happy, and as for me…wherever this goes, I'll be happy as long as we're together, no matter what it becomes."

Mary smiled at Molly, a woman who had become such a close friend after the Magnussen business, and they shared a hug before resuming the dishes.

* * *

John and Sherlock, meanwhile, remained in the living room. John spoke first after the women had adjourned to the kitchen. "So, how's it going?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, when are you going to stop asking these general questions about Molly and me when you really want to know that I haven't screwed it up yet?" he snapped, though mildly.

John opened his mouth to deny it, found he couldn't, and looked rightly ashamed before speaking again. "Sorry, mate. I suppose, even after knowing and witnessing this new relationship for a few months, it's still a bit hard to believe…I mean, can you really blame me, Sherlock? With your history, especially with her?"

Sherlock sighed and leaned his head back against the back of the chair. "No, I suppose I can't…I worry about the same thing…I'm surprised that she's stuck around for this long."

John looked at his friend for a moment, laughed, and then leaned forward in his chair. "Sherlock," he said in all seriousness but with a smile, "this is_ Molly _we're talking about."

Sherlock lifted his head and looked at his best friend. The words sunk in, and a smile spread across his face as he answered, "Yes. No surprise after all."

* * *

**A/N: **_Hi y'all! Sorry this came a bit late in the day, but coming down with a cold can certainly delay things, which is why this one is short but no less sweet. Review please!_


	10. Pet Names

**10\. Pet Names**

When Molly opened the door to 221B, she found her consulting detective on his sofa. He was curled up on his sofa in a fetal position, wearing his pajamas and camel dressing gown. He was much paler than usual, sweat glistened on his brow, and he was shaking. When he heard the door open, he moaned, "_Molleeeeeeee…_" He couldn't lift his head to see her, but he hoped it was her, since it was she he texted when he felt too weak to get up.

"Oh, Sherlock…" said Molly, taking off her coat before approaching him. She knelt down in front of Sherlock and stroked his forehead, brushing some damp curls away. "You're burning up."

His eyes fluttered halfway open. "Molly…" he breathed. "You came."

"Of course I did, love," she murmured, digging into her medical bag for a thermometer. When she had retrieved it, Molly saw that Sherlock was looking at her with his eyes wide open. "What is it?"

"You…what did…"

"Hold that thought," said Molly, taking advantage of his open mouth and sticking the thermometer under his tongue. He groaned in great protest, even as his lips closed around the thermometer. Molly smiled. "Good boy, now stay still for a minute while I get some cold water and a cloth for your head. You'll want some tea, too, I expect?"

Sherlock nodded, and Molly went into the kitchen to fetch all of that.

When she came back, Molly knelt beside him again and pressed the dishcloth soaked in cold water to his forehead. "Alright, open," she said, reaching for the thermometer. He obeyed, and Molly read it with a hiss through her teeth. "One hundred and three degrees…looks like the flu. No wonder John and Mary won't come near you, they'd never risk infecting Emma."

"Molly."

"Hmm?"

"You…you called me…"

"What did I call you?" she asked in confusion, cooling his face with the damp cloth.

"You…" His breathing was labored, but he was determined to speak his peace. "When I said you came…"

Molly thought for a moment, then gasped as she realized what he meant. _Oh, God, I used a term of endearment, he probably wants to empty his stomach all over again! _ "Oh. I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't even realize I called you that. I won't do it again."

"No," said Sherlock, wrapping his fingers lightly around the wrist of the hand cooling his face. "I…I like it." His bloodshot eyes were almost glowing.

She blushed, smiled, said, "Let's get you better, love," and kissed his forehead tenderly.

* * *

Three days later found a very pale Molly curled up in her own bed with the sweats and shakes. Her fever had finally dropped a degree, according to the last thermometer read. Sherlock entered, carrying a tray in his hands.

"All right," he said almost brightly, sitting down on the bed beside her. "Here is a bowl of chicken soup I made all by myself, an entire packet of saltines, warm water to wash it down since cold water will only give you a headache, and a fresh dosage of medicine to take beforehand."

Molly pouted at him and croaked, "Your fault."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his expression softened. "Now, now, Molly, I never asked you to stay with me every minute until I had gotten better."

Molly smirked. "Yes, you did."

A blush briefly crossed Sherlock's cheeks, but the corners of his lips turned up. Gently, he lifted her torso so she rested against her pillows in a sitting-up position. "You're right, dearest, I did," he muttered absently as he brought the tray to rest on her lap. When he looked at her face again, she was staring at him with wide eyes that were overbright. "What?" he asked, touching her forehead to see if her fever had spiked.

She shook her head quickly and blinked. "Nothing, it's nothing."

But Sherlock knew exactly what she was thinking of. He brushed the tear that had escaped off her cheek before kissing it. "Eat, dearest. I worked hard to warm up that soup."

* * *

**A/N: **_So, being bedridden with a bug inspired the setting for this little prompt. And if anybody would like to know why I chose those particular pet names, I ask you to bring to your memory what was on the card of Molly's Christmas present to Sherlock. Review please!_


	11. Wearing Onesies

**11\. Wearing Onesies**

It was just after one in the morning when Molly heard a pounding at her front door. Shivering and groaning, Molly wrapped her quilt tightly around herself and – _very _unwillingly – left the relative warmth and comfort of her bed to answer the door. The air in her apartment was quite chilly, and the only person she would answer the door to in these circumstances was the only person who would pound on it at this hour.

With a very sour expression on her face, Molly opened her front door to see Sherlock standing bundled in his coat and scarf, shivering. The moment the door had opened wide enough, Sherlock hurried inside the flat only to scoff. "Good God, Molly, why is your heat not working?"

Molly, still exhausted and cold, rolled her eyes and shut her front door. "The furnace is down, and the superintendent won't return my calls. Why are you here at this hour, anyway?"

"Just finished a case, here was closer than Baker Street, and I wanted to see you," said Sherlock logically. "Which apartment is your superintendent residing in?"

Under normal circumstances, Molly would have told Sherlock not to bother the man at this hour, but she was freezing and grumpy from little sleep, so she said, "3A, first floor."

"I'm sure I can persuade him to fix our problem," said Sherlock with a confident smirk. Molly couldn't help but agree. Just one look, one well-placed deduction in the right spot…

"I'd appreciate that," she said. "I'll start some tea."

Sherlock was about to turn and walk out the door when he caught sight of her feet peeking out beneath the quilt. A small smile appeared on his face. "Those aren't slippers, Molly."

The pathologist looked down at her feet and immediately looked back up with a scarlet face, wrapping the quilt even more tightly around her. "I only wear it on really, really cold nights like this one. Tease me all you want when it's warmer in here and I've woken up a bit more, ok?"

Sherlock grinned, tenderly kissed her nose, and left to hunt down the superintendent. Molly groaned and headed back into her bedroom to try and warm up again. But before she could settle down, her mobile vibrated on her bedside table. She took it and unlocked the message, which was from an unknown number she knew meant Sherlock's brother. The message was short: _Thought you may have need to this in the future. _Molly knew it must refer to the photograph he had sent with the message so she opened it.

And she burst into giggles.

It was an image of a little boy no older than two, with black curls, bright eyes, and his thumb in his mouth. He wore a baby blue onesie and had a big yellow teddy bear clutched to his chest.

Molly quickly texted her everlasting gratitude to Mycroft and saved the photo. _Oh, yes. That could come in _very _useful._

* * *

**A/N: **_Another tricky one. I actually had a friend who wears one on really cold nights, and I wish I had one too. Where we come from, winters are very cold, so we're not ashamed!_


	12. Make-Up

**12\. Make-Up**

Molly pulled open the top drawer to her desk to retrieve a new pen after her initial one ran out of ink. It was Friday, Sherlock was taking her to dinner, and she wanted to finish all of her paperwork before he came to pick her up. But instead of a pen, her fingers found something shorter in length but wider in width. Pulling it out, she saw that she was holding a familiar looking tube of lipstick. She chuckled at the memory it brought to her mind…

* * *

_Molly walked back into the morgue with careful steps, looking at the tall man who was still beating the cadaver without mercy with a riding crop. The fact that it had once been a colleague who had been nice to her didn't bother the pathologist. She had learned quite soon into her career that a dead body was not the same thing as the living person it had once been._

_ When he had finished, Molly began with a joke to break the ice: "So, bad day, was it?"_

_ "I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes," replied Sherlock as if she hadn't spoken, merely came into the room. He pulled out a notepad and pen and focused his attention on that as he continued speaking in the same breath. "A man's alibi depends on it. Text me."_

_ Refusing to give up because of her failed attempt at humor, Molly lowered her gaze for a moment before asking the question she'd wanted to ask for months. "Listen, I was wondering…maybe later…when you're finished –"_

_ "Are you wearing lipstick?" interrupted the detective, now looking at her instead of what he was writing in curiosity. "You weren't wearing lipstick before."_

_ Safe to say, Molly felt caught off-guard at him noticing her one attempt to make herself pretty just before coming back into the morgue, so her reply came out a bit lamely. "I, uh…I – refreshed it a bit." She tried to laugh nonchalantly, but her insides were squirming in embarrassment._

_ He looked back down at his notepad. "Sorry, you were saying?"_

_ Determinedly looking at him and squashing her embarrassment, she said: "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee."_

_ He looked back up at her with a polite smile and a nod. "Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs." And with that, he left the morgue. _

_ A moment passed, and Molly just squeaked out an "Ok," before dejectedly going to the canteen to do just that._

_ When she had come into the lab, she found the detective with Mike Stamford and another man she didn't recognize. She paid them no mind, since she just wanted to hand him his coffee and go – she was already embarrassed enough. _

_ But apparently not for the consulting detective._

_ "Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." She handed him the cup with a tentative smile, glad he was at least being polite to her, but then he said sharply, "What happened to the lipstick?"_

_ Molly felt too humiliated to put any cheeriness in her voice, so her answer came out bluntly: "It wasn't working for me."_

_ "Really? I thought it was a big improvement," said Sherlock, turning around and walking away from her. "Your mouth's too…small now." He finished with a small hand flourish before sipping the coffee she had made._

_ All poor Molly could do was say "Ok" again before walking out of the lab so she could hide in the supply closet for a while…_

* * *

A kiss on the top of her head brought Molly out of her reverie. She looked up and saw Sherlock looking down at her. She grinned and stood up. "Hi," she murmured, cupping his cheek and kissing his lips.

"Well, hello," said Sherlock, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a kiss of his own. "Happy to see me?"

"Always," said Molly. "So, where are we going?"

"Little French place owned by a woman I once solved a case for," said Sherlock. "Bakes all of the bread and pastries herself."

"Lovely," said Molly. She reached down to drop the lipstick tube back in the drawer, but Sherlock caught it. He looked at it curiously for a moment and then back at Molly in tender realization.

"This really is a flattering color for you," he said, almost an apology.

"Maybe," said Molly, taking back the lipstick and dropping it in her drawer. "But I don't need it, do I? You seem to like my mouth just fine."

"More than 'just fine,' Molly Hooper," said Sherlock. "In fact, I prefer you wearing little to no make-up. You are an authentic person, in the best sense of the word, and you don't need to cover and cake your face with various paints and powders."

Eyes filled with tears, Molly smiled and rested her face on his chest. "Thank you, Sherlock. That was a lovely thing to say."

"I meant it," murmured Sherlock, his smiling mouth pressed to her hair. "And I'm glad I didn't say a horrible thing."

"Once you would have told me my mouth was too small without lipstick," said Molly, lifting her face to look at him. "Perhaps that is true, but all that matters to me is that you don't care, do you?"

Sherlock traced her mouth with his forefinger, a slow smile coming to his face. "No, not a bit," he finally said before his own lips pressed to hers for a long minute.

* * *

**A/N: **_Of course the first thing I thought of when I read this prompt was Molly's attempt to pretty herself in an attempt to ask Sherlock out, so I thought I'd include that nice flashback. It is the first time we all met her, and the scene that Moffat and Gatiss thought would be her only appearance until she stole their hearts. Then she stole ours and Sherlock's (even if he and the writers are in complete denial). Review, please!_


	13. Eating Ice Cream

**13\. Eating Ice Cream**

Molly's day at work had been a tough one.

She'd had to perform an autopsy on a young woman killed by a drunk driver, who'd been eight months pregnant with twins. It had taken all of her strength not to break down along with the husband who'd come to identify the body. Molly wouldn't have gotten through the rest of her shift if she hadn't paused once in a while to let her tears out. She hated those days when her job brought only sadness and a sense of unfairness to life.

Sherlock had arrived just as she was getting ready to leave in the locker room. He'd taken one look at her defeated posture and tear-stained face before gently taking her hand and telling her they were going to Baker Street. Molly had made no protest, following behind Sherlock like a ghost out of the locker room and hospital.

One silent cab ride later, Sherlock led her again by the hand, this time into 221B. He sat her down on the sofa with a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Wait there," he said before he went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he came back out carrying two bowls and two spoons. He handed one of each to her, and what she saw in the bowl lifted her heavy heart quite a bit.

"How did you know?" she asked as he sat beside her on the sofa.

"The day of the Fall, when you brought me back to your flat, the first thing you did when you had a moment to yourself was to help yourself to a bowl of strawberry ice cream." Sherlock paused in order to help himself to a spoonful. "Judging from the fact that you always have a tub in your freezer, it is a usual remedy when you have a hard day."

New tears filled Molly's eyes, only this time they weren't sad. Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed his lips. "Thank you," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his for a moment before pulling back and eating her own portion.

The two of them ate their ice cream in comfortable silence, sharing warm looks and small smiles in between spoonfuls. When they were finished, Molly insisted on cleaning up to again show her gratitude. Sherlock followed her into the kitchen and stood behind her.

"Do you…want to…talk about it?" he asked. Molly turned around to see Sherlock standing as awkwardly as he had asked that question. She smiled warmly at him, and dried her hands before taking his.

"No, Sherlock, I'll be ok," she said. "I've had days like this before, and I'll have more. But I really appreciate you asking."

Sherlock nodded. "Did you always cheer yourself up on bad days like this?"

"Since I was little," said Molly, resting her head on his chest. "Dad always took me for ice cream after school if it was a bad day."

"Hmm," hummed Sherlock, resting his chin on top of her head. "Mummy always baked cookies for us if we had a bad day."

Molly smiled against his shirt and hugged him. "No better remedies in the world than home remedies, eh?"

Sherlock held her in turn. "Quite right."

After a content moment in each other's arms, Molly pulled back a bit to look up at Sherlock. "So, why did you want to see me today?"

"I wanted to ask if you would accompany me to a concert in Kensington Gardens tonight of string music," said Sherlock. "But if you would rather go back to your flat, I'll drop you off."

Molly shook her head. "No, I'd love to go with you. Let's just stop by my flat first so I can change. I'd much prefer to spend the evening with you than by myself."

"I'm glad of that," he murmured as he kissed her forehead again. "Does this mean that…"

His voice drifted, and Molly lifted her hand to his cheek. "Mean what, Sherlock?"

"Mean that I'm doing this right." His gaze had lowered to the top button of her blouse.

"Doing what right?"

"…Being with you."

Molly's face lit up in the most radiant smile. She brought his face down and captured his lips in a kiss. Sherlock responded with equal tenderness, pressing her against him. Taking a chance when the gentleness was fading to fervor, Molly gently touched his lips with her tongue in a silent question. Sherlock moaned and opened his mouth. They had never kissed like this before, and they took it slowly. Thankfully, Sherlock was a quick learner, and he seemed to enjoy it just as much as she was.

When they finally broke away to breathe, Molly's ponytail had come down and Sherlock's curls were even more ruffled. Both faces were equally flushed and equally happy.

"Well…" said Sherlock, his voice much lower and huskier than usual. "You were right. Not disgusting at all when with the right person."

Molly smiled. "And the taste of the strawberry ice cream made it even better."

* * *

**A/N: **_So I put sweet and steamy together, having them take a new step in their relationship. Hope the result was satisfactory. My illness has passed, which is a great relief. No one wants a cold when the weather is finally improving with the season. Review, please! _


	14. Gender Swapped

**14\. Gender Swapped**

"We're waiting!" called Mary in a very merry, sing-song voice towards the bathroom of 221B Baker Street. Molly giggled, biting her lips as she did so.

Both heard two distinctive groans from the respective males who held their hearts come from behind the closed door. This just made the two of them giggle together.

"Really, you two, Lestrade will be here to pick you up in fifteen minutes," called Molly, who for the life of her couldn't stop grinning.

"Don't remind us, Molly!" was the growl of a reply that came.

In the next moment, the bathroom door opened slowly, and out came two figures that caused Molly and Mary to erupt into unrestrained peals of laughter. This caused both figures to give them very sour expressions, which was perfectly understandable.

After all, these two heterosexual males had never before disguised themselves as drag queens before.

"Could you two cut it out, please?" asked John, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to shoot himself in the head with his shotgun.

"I'm sorry, darling," said Mary, crying with laughter. "But can you really blame me? Now, come here so I can kiss you before I smear glittery paint all over your face."

Molly had the grace to keep her laughter silent behind her hand, even as tears of her own streamed down her cheeks. Silently, she motioned for Sherlock to come to her, giving the same invitation.

Dragging their feet, both men approached the women that held their hearts and (gladly and gratefully) accepted the sweet kisses they gave them.

"Now, sit down, you two," commanded Mary.

They obeyed, and the two women each spent the next fifteen minutes applying thick, bright and glittery make-up to their faces.

"I still don't understand why you couldn't do this yourself, Sherlock," said Molly after she had applied the huge fake lashes to his eyes. "I'm sure you could learn how to do this in less than a minute just looking it up on Youtube."

"John wouldn't be able to learn that fast, for one," replied Sherlock.

"Nor would I want to!" the army doctor groused.

"Mouth still, John!" ordered Mary, wiping it since his outburst had caused her to apply the lipstick to his cheek as well as his upper lip.

"Secondly, he would never allow me to apply make-up to his face like this," replied Sherlock.

"Uh-huh," confirmed John, this time obediently keeping his mouth still.

"Their real reason, Molly, is that we are the only ones they would want this close to and touching their faces," said Mary with a sickly sweet smile.

Both men rolled their eyes, knowing that they couldn't deny it.

Just as Molly and Mary had finished their work and everyone was standing up again, Lestrade had arrived. He took one look at the colorful queens which had replaced the consulting detective and his doctor sidekick and burst into a worse fit of laughter than Molly and Mary.

"Pull yourself together, Garry!" snapped Sherlock, who looked like he wanted to throw himself out of his window. "We need to get moving."

"Hey, no grousing, Sherlock," said Greg, barely able to get words out between gasping for breath and controlling his tears of laughter. "You wanted to take down this smuggling ring once and for all, and it's not our fault that their headquarters is this exclusive drag queen club. Gotta go wherever the case leads."

All John could do was grouch silently.

"Now, come on," said Lestrade, managing to calm down. "The sooner we go, the sooner this will be over. And," he added, having the grace to look a little bit apologetic. "I am in no way, shape or form responsible for our mode of transportation tonight."

Sherlock and John immediately walked to the window, and turned away a moment later looking faintly sick. They had just looked down on the image of Mycroft leaning against one of his black government cars, smiling evilly and waving.

"Let's get this over with," said John as he marched out the door like a soldier, with as much dignity as he could muster in a poofy fire-colored dress and matching feather boa. Greg followed, nearly choking on his laughter.

Sherlock, in a more slinky sequined number that was no less colorful in blues and hot pink, he began to follow them. But Molly stopped him by taking his wrist. When he turned, she placed a tender kiss to his palm with a reassuring and loving look. She didn't miss the gratitude and adoration that warmed his bright eyes before he left 221B.

She and Mary then went down to Mrs. Hudson's flat, where the older lady was holding Emma and hooting with laughter as she watched her favorite boys get into the black car and drive away.

This would be a fun girl's night.

* * *

**A/N: **_Hello, my faithful readers. Sorry this one came rather late in the day, but it's been a bitch of a Monday, no thanks to severe menstrual cramps and a minor mental breakdown. However, I've quite cured myself with this little piece of hilarity that I would LOVE to see actually happen on the show. May it bring you as much laughter reading it as I got writing it. Review, please!_


	15. In A Different Clothing Style

**15\. In A Different Clothing Style**

A knock on the door brought Sherlock out of his mind palace with a smile. He had been in the midst of doing some necessary summer cleaning (had to be done occasionally so that he would be able to find anything he needed at any time), and was very glad that the perfect distraction had arrived: his Molly.

He jumped off of his sofa and nearly skipped to the door, an eager smile on his face. But when he opened the door, the smile disappeared as he jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

"Hi, Sherlock," greeted Molly with a shy smile and pink cheeks.

Sherlock couldn't say anything in his state of surprise. Molly looked…not the way that she usually looked…in the best possible way. She was clothed in a cotton summer dress, white with a blue floral pattern. Thin straps over her shoulders held it up, the neckline was only a bit plunging, the waist was cinched, and the skirt flowed freely to the top of her knees. Her hair hung loosely down her back, side-parted and free of hair accessories. On her feet were a pair of simple white flats, and in her hands she held a small handbag.

Molly cleared her throat, and Sherlock noticed that she was awkwardly looking from her feet to his chin. "Um, Mary took me shopping over the weekend, and this is the first really nice day of the year, it's so sunny outside, so I wanted to try it." She bit her lip and became silent, finally looking back into his eyes. "So, you asked me to come, so…can I come in?"

Sherlock could only nod and move aside very quickly so she could enter. As she passed him, Sherlock could smell her pomegranate shampoo and feel her body heat, only increased from the sun she'd just been walking in. He didn't think his blood could pump through his body any faster.

Right then and there, he made a decision. He closed (and locked) the front door, turned to Molly, and said, "Let's sit on the couch." He took her hand before she could respond, led her to said piece of furniture, and sat them both down on it.

"Um," said Molly, butterflies dancing in her stomach at the determination and excitement she could sense in Sherlock. "So, what did you want –"

"My original intention of inviting you over had been to start the experiment on the liver you brought me yesterday. But looking at you, I find that in no way do I want to risk staining that dress that is beyond flattering on you. And looking at you like this, I would like to spend the next foreseeable amount of time snogging you. That is the appropriate term, is it not? Juvenile and crude, yes, but appropriate to the activity. Is this agreeable to you?"

All of this was said at Sherlock's normal rapid pace, but with a husky quality in tone. The pupils of his eyes were dilated so they looked quite dark, and Molly didn't need to see him to sense that he _really _meant what he said.

Now she was the one left speechless with wide eyes (her pupils had to be just as dilated), and she could only nod eagerly in response.

Sherlock wasted no time, his head swooping in like a bird and his lips capturing hers possessively. Her response was immediate, a moan escaping from her mouth to his as her fingers immediately sank into his curls. His own large hands landed on her waist, trying to pull her closer to him. Sitting side-by-side did not provide the right angle for that.

Molly fixed that problem on instinct as their tongues tangled: she lifted herself so she straddled his lap. She broke the kiss and said through panting breaths, "Is this ok?"

Sherlock only responded by resuming the kiss with invigorated energy and fire in his eyes. His hands pressed against her back so her chest pressed to his. Then the kiss relaxed to a more leisurely, sensual place as his fingers played with her beautiful hair while her hands traveled across his shoulders and upper back.

Then time disappeared for a while…

* * *

Some immeasurable amount of time later, they lay on the sofa together. Molly lay on her back, and Sherlock lay between her legs atop her. His head rested on her shoulder, his face against her neck. Her fingers played with his curls and rubbed his back, and her lips pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Molly's heart was full, her body felt flushed and tired, and her mind was calm. Their first serious snogging session had been more wonderful than even her most detailed fantasies. Their clothes had remained on, and their hands had not strayed to the more pleasurable places, but she didn't care at all. They had promised to take their relationship slow, in this area especially, and Molly had no wish to change that now that they had gone a bit further than before.

She could feel how overwhelmed he was in her arms, trying to calm his body down and let his arousal very slowly soften and come down. Perhaps this would be done more quickly if there were distance between them, but Sherlock wouldn't let her go. Though she aroused him, Molly also knew that she calmed him like nothing else could, and she would give him exactly what he needed.

And when she left 221B, she would call Mary and give her endless gratitude for persuading her into buying this new sundress.

* * *

**A/N: **_So please enjoy this hot and steamy little ficlet. I love having them go slowly, don't you? With Sherlock's personality, I think he would go slowly in such unfamiliar territory, because moments like this would be very overwhelming to his excellent senses. Besides, them going slowly makes moments like these all the more delicious! Review, please!_


	16. During Their Morning Rituals

**16\. During Their Morning Rituals**

Molly had just finished brushing her teeth when her mobile gave off her ringtone of "One Day Like This" by Elbow, indicating that she had an incoming call. Looking at the caller ID, she smiled as she set down her toothbrush. She answered the call, putting it on speaker phone.

"Hello, Sherlock," she said as she picked up her hairbrush.

"Molly," Sherlock began. "I'm afraid I'm not going to see you for a few days at least. My dear brother is insisting that I take on a case in Ireland with John. Not much I can say about it other than it may have ties to the IRA, which is why John is coming with me. Being a military man and doctor would be better for this one."

"All right," said Molly, who felt no offense. "Just be careful, all right? And don't be afraid of guilting your big brother into helping you if you need it."

"Oh, don't worry about that," said Sherlock almost gleefully. "I'll make sure he does his share too. Normally I'd refuse, but this case looks like a nine at least."

"Well, then at least you'll have fun," said Molly with an indulgent smile as she finished brushing her hair.

"I'll make sure to," said Sherlock. "Part your hair to the side."

Molly smiled. "Why should I if you won't see me?"

"Because I can imagine what you are doing today and be accurate."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Fine, and it will be in one long braid over my left shoulder."

"Like the day I came back?"

"Mm-hm."

"Excellent. Must dash now, dearest. Mycroft will be picking me up any moment."

"All right, love. Come back safely."

"That's a promise."

Sherlock pressed the red button to end the call, and finished off his shave. He hummed as he put on one of his suits and his Belstaff coat. With the promise of a great case and Molly's sweet farewell, he practically skipped out of 221B singing, "The game is on!"

* * *

**A/N: **_Short, yes I know, but I really don't have time to write more today. So please enjoy! The next one will have a more somber note to it, I'm afraid. Review, please!_


	17. Spooning

**17\. Spooning**

Molly arrived at 221B Baker Street within fifteen minutes of receiving the 911 text from John. The text itself was short and to the point:

_Please come to Baker Street ASAP. Case over. Sherlock physically fine, but he needs you. _

When Molly knocked on the door of 221B, it was John who opened it. The man looked like he had just returned from the gates of hell. Relief flooded his face when he saw who had arrived. "Oh, Molls, thanks for coming."

"Of course, John," she said, and they shared a long hug. "What happened?"

A deep and weary sigh escaped the retired army doctor as he let go of Molly and led her inside. He spoke in a low voice. "This was a case that seemed so simple at the beginning, but went terribly, terribly wrong. It started with a client who had gotten a mysterious, almost silly, death threat in the mail. The next day, he and his family were abducted. Turned out this was all traced back to this cult of the KKK, that white supremacist American group, and a two-century old family feud. Long story short, they led us on a wild goose chase of one riddle after another. In the end Sherlock won…but not before they had slaughtered the client and his family."

Molly groaned and covered her face. "Oh, God…"

John nodded, rubbing his face. "He's in his room. I don't want him alone, so I hope you don't mind."

"John, you know I would never mind," said Molly, rubbing his shoulder. "Go home to your family."

Looking extremely grateful, John kissed her cheek and left.

With a prayer to God that she would not make a bad situation worse, Molly made her way to Sherlock's bedroom. The door was closed – _not _a good sign. She opened it as quietly as she could, and what met her eyes brought even more sadness to her heart. The lights were off, the shades were drawn, and Sherlock was curled into a ball on the far side of his bed, his back to her. A tear fell down Molly's face without her knowledge. _Oh, love…_

Her next actions she let come right from her heart.

Silently, Molly shed her coat and slipped out of her shoes. Then, she carefully climbed onto the empty side of the bed and settled herself right behind Sherlock, lightly spooning him from behind. She reached her arm around him, and rested her hand over his. It greatly relieved her that he made no protest.

For a long time, they just lay there in silence, and Molly made no attempt to break it. Sherlock would talk to her when he wanted to, and if he didn't want to talk about the case at all, Molly would not push him. Then, in a quiet voice, Sherlock spoke. He told the story of the case from beginning to end. He spared no gruesome detail, even at the part where he and John found the bodies of the client, his wife, and his twins. Molly didn't interrupt him once, even as tears fell throughout the story. He held her hand tightly the entire time.

Eventually, they both fell asleep, their fingers still weaved together.

* * *

When Molly woke up, she found herself looking at Sherlock's face rather than his upper back. He was very much awake, which Molly could see by the sunlight now streaming in through the open curtains.

"Morning, Sherlock," said Molly, raising her hand to touch his face. "What's on your mind?"

Originally, she was going to ask if he was doing any better, but changed her mind. His face held no traces of the despair he had felt the previous evening, but was instead alight with what could only be revelation. His answer was the last thing that she expected to hear. Ever.

"I love you and I want you to marry me."

Safe to say, the shock that descended on Molly was so great that all she could say in response was a squeak: "W-_what_?"

"This is quite spur of the moment, but please hear me out." Sherlock sat up and pulled her up so she sat up, too. He wasn't at all deterred by her shock, and his expression was alight and determined.

"Molly, I will not attempt to make some flowery speech of verbal sentiment, because we both know that is not my area and you deserve nothing but my best. All I can say is that when I woke up this morning and saw you sleeping beside me…and how yesterday, when I loathed even the thought of myself, you helped me by just being there for me…Molly, I am a man who is capable of doing many things with my mind, and yet I literally _cannot _picture my existence without you. Just the mere idea causes the nearest to physical pain the mind is capable of! This can only mean that I am in love with you, Molly Hooper, and because you make me better in every way I do not mind in the slightest. I believe that we complement each other perfectly and always will. Which leads me to the question I am asking you now: _Will you marry me_?"

Her vision had blurred because they had filled with overwhelmed tears, so she closed her eyes. Her mind was flooded by a tsunami of artificially logical thoughts, all protests and reasons why she should say no: their history, his personality, they hadn't gone past first base yet, they'd only been a couple for seven months, and the stream of thoughts went on and on in those two seconds she kept her eyes closed.

Then Molly opened her eyes and her vision was clear as she looked at Sherlock Holmes, the man who had changed her life. In those turquoise eyes she saw not a trace of doubt about what he had said, and the true belief that he was asking the right question at the right time in the right place. But she also saw the vulnerability, waiting for her to answer and hoping it would be the answer he needed to hear.

And then, as a single candle has the power to conquer the blackest darkness, all of those doubtful protests and negative reasons were replaced by one single thought:

_It has, is, and always will be – him._

So with a sure mind and a full heart, Molly smiled and said through her happy tears the only word that needed to be said:

"_Yes_."

* * *

**A/N: **_I told you this would be a sadder one, but I didn't tell you it would end up being happy, did I? I've said before and I'll say again that this collection is a bunch of fluff, so ENJOY IT! Reviews make me very happy._


	18. Doing Something Together

**18\. Doing Something Together**

Sitting in the back of the taxi with Sherlock, Molly was ninety-nine point nine percent certain that she was going to be sick.

The last twenty-four hours had been an absolute whirlwind for Molly: getting John's 911 text, spooning in comfort a consulting detective who'd experienced a rare but heartbreaking defeat, waking up the next morning to encounter that consulting detective declaring his love for her, and accepting whole-heartedly his proposal of marriage.

And that was just the first twelve hours.

Within an hour of the proposal, Mycroft had phoned his little brother to offer his congratulations (which were, to the surprise of them both, sincere beneath all of the cold layers). Mycroft had also called to say that their parents, whom he'd taken the liberty of informing them about this news since Sherlock wouldn't get around to it for at least a few weeks, were absolutely thrilled and were looking forward to having them over for dinner that very night.

So Molly had more than a good enough reason to feel nauseous right about now.

Not wanting Mycroft to be the one to spread the news to everybody, Sherlock and Molly had gone to the Watsons for lunch, inviting Greg and Mrs. Hudson along so they could all hear the news together. Mary and Mrs. Hudson were absolutely delighted; John and Greg were quite shocked but thankfully no less pleased. Unfortunately, the successful lunch had done nothing to settle Molly's nerves now.

"Molly."

Sherlock's voice broke through Molly's terrified reverie, and she immediately turned her head to look at him. "Hm?" she squeaked.

"You have absolutely no reason to be nervous."

Molly couldn't help but let out a brief and loud laugh at that. "I'm about to meet the parents of a man I've just become engaged to. Of _course _I have a reason to be nervous! I mean, did they even know who I was before Mycroft called them?" Sherlock's expression became taken aback and more than a bit hurt, and Molly immediately calmed as she felt regret for her outburst. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, it's just…I'm sorry, I just can't help but be nervous right now."

"Then believe me when I say that they will adore you," said Sherlock firmly, taking her hands in his own. He continued: "And, for the record, they've known about you ever since the Fall. They've wanted to meet the woman who saved my life for a very long time. I suppose I never introduced you before because…well…" His voice faded as a look of quiet revelation.

"What is it?" asked Molly gently, squeezing his hands.

Sherlock smiled a bit as he looked at her again. "I suppose I knew that, on a subconscious level at least, once they met you, they would know that you were the only one for me. And…now I realize that I didn't want them to tell me that: I needed to accept it on my own terms."

_Took you long enough, _thought Molly, but she just gave him an understanding smile. Sherlock, however, must have read her mind somehow, and kissed her lips sweetly in silent apology.

Just then, the taxi came to a stop outside one of the long row of simple brick cottages in the Surrey countryside. Feeling a bit more confident and much less nauseous, Molly took a deep breath and said, "Onward, then."

Sherlock straightened the collar of the light cardigan she wore over the summer dress he so adored on her and got out of the cab. He hurried around to the other side and opened her door for her. At her raised eyebrow, he whispered, "I know Mummy is watching from the window."

Molly laughed with little restraint, glad to know that Sherlock, for all his confidence, was still a child in his parents' eyes.

* * *

Never before had Molly been so grateful that Sherlock had been absolutely right about something. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had welcomed her into their home with open arms. Over a delicious home-cooked meal, the conversation was steady and lively. Sherlock's parents never once made her feel nervous or ill at ease. They seemed absolutely delighted about the entire situation, and seemed to adore her for exactly who she was. Sherlock spoke the least, seeming content to just watch the three of them get to know each other. Not even when his mother started to tell embarrassing stories from his childhood did he mind too much.

After dinner, Molly had been given a tour by Mr. Holmes while Mrs. Holmes had her son help her clean up in the kitchen. Then Sherlock had taken Molly to the one place in the house that she hadn't been shown yet: his childhood bedroom.

"Wow," breathed Molly, looking around the modest room, a sight she never imagined she would have the privilege of visiting. She couldn't help but giggle when she saw the wallpaper had a pattern of pirate flags.

"I've never brought a girl here before," said Sherlock thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm honored," replied Molly, feeling as shy as a schoolgirl hearing that.

Without further preamble, Sherlock reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a tiny, square, black box that looked a few decades old. Molly took it with trembling fingers and opened it, gasping when she saw a simple but beautiful diamond ring resting in the velvet holding.

"It was my grandmother's," said Sherlock quietly. "Mum gave it to me to give to you just now. Says she's been saving it until one of her sons decided to marry. Do you like it?"

Molly looked at him with bright eyes and held out the open box to him. "Put it on me."

He did so gladly, sliding it onto the proper finger, and both rejoiced that it fit her like a glove. Seeing it fit so perfectly and look so perfect on her small hand made kissing her irresistible.

* * *

When they came back downstairs five minutes later, both parents were waiting for them. Molly discreetly showed them her left hand with a beaming, watery smile. Without a word, Mrs. Holmes opened her arms and enfolded Molly in a warm hug. Mr. Holmes smiled and stroked Molly's head, saying softly, "Welcome to our family."

Sherlock gladly accepted the next hug his mother offered while his father took his turn to embrace Molly.

_Not even Mycroft being here would ruin this moment_, he thought. _Not even he can deny that Mummy and Daddy aren't even close to being cross with me._

And that was a truly lovely thought.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry this one is a bit late, and I feel it could be a lot better, but I really didn't have a lot of time today. In the future, I have no doubt that I will write a better fic of Sherlock bringing Molly to meet his parents. But for now, I hope you like this one. _


	19. In Formal Wear

**19\. In Formal Wear**

Sherlock and John were standing in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, both tapping their feet and adjusting their bowties. Both were dressed in elegant black tuxedoes and waiting for their respective partners to join them so they could go to the annual St. Bart's charity ball together.

"Why do women always take so long to get ready?" moaned Sherlock, who had started to pace.

John chuckled. "One of the many great mysteries of female life, Sherlock. Best left undisturbed, if you ask me."

Sherlock murmured an agreement. "We really shouldn't be surprised, considering how long it took the both of us to get ready to go to that drag queen –"

"_Don't_," ordered John, holding up a hand and closing his eyes. "We both agreed to never speak of that humiliating experience again."

"Apologies," said Sherlock.

Thankfully, at that moment, the bathroom door opened and Mary walked out. She wore a beautiful gown of pleated chiffon of a sea foam green color that perfectly matched her eyes. Her short blonde hair was curled in an attractive 1920's style. She gave her husband a theatrical twirl and he grinned the way only a proud husband could. "Gorgeous," he muttered, kissing Mary's cheek.

"Oh, it's good to glamour up once in a while when you're a mother to a twenty-month old," said Mary as John helped her put on her coat. Catching sight of Sherlock's continued pacing, she said, "Don't worry, she'll be out in a bit. She's nervous, so –"

"I know," said Sherlock.

The bathroom door opened again, and the three of them heard slow and measured footsteps approach the sitting room. Then Molly appeared, the image of self-consciousness and soft beauty. She wore a silk gown of midnight blue, her long hair loosely curled and brushed to one side. Her only jewelry was a simple pearl necklace round her neck and the engagement ring on her left finger.

"Are we all ready to go, then?" she asked quietly, looking at the three of them ending with Mary. "Thanks for helping with my make-up."

"Of course, Molly," said Mary, beaming at her. "I think we're ready, right?"

"Oh, yes," said John, who looked at his best friend and snorted. "Sherlock, pick up your jaw from the floor and help Molly put on her coat."

Sherlock, who had indeed stopped his pacing and whose jaw had dropped at the sight of Molly, snapped himself into motion again at John's words and walked to the coat rack. The Watsons, grinning with pleasure, walked out of 221B to say goodbye to Emma, whom Mrs. Hudson would be babysitting while they were out.

Sherlock, meanwhile, helped Molly put on her coat. Once he had done this, he bent his head and kissed the side of her neck. Molly gasped and shuddered at such an intimate touch, because she also knew that Sherlock was telling her without words how beautiful he thought she was.

* * *

**A/N: **_Another short and sweet one. The next ficlet will be a direct continuation of this one. Have a lovely Saturday!_


	20. Dancing

**20\. Dancing**

Sherlock had managed to endure the charity ball for thirty-six minutes before asking Molly to sneak away with him. He'd been glad that she hadn't seen anything unusual about his request to dance in the morgue; after all, she had no qualms about sharing space with the dead, and this was the place where they had first met (proving to Sherlock that sentiment _could _be a good thing now and again). Not only had he wanted to get her all to himself (there were too many men looking at her in ways that made him want to throw them off the roof with much less successful results than he'd had), but the music being played was so generic and not meant to be waltzed to at all. And while she was dressed so beautifully and in the perfect style for a waltz, he would take this perfect opportunity to make his sweetest daydream of her a reality, damn it!

"You're a natural," muttered Sherlock as they waltzed around the dimly-lit morgue.

"Really?" asked Molly genuinely, in a dreamy haze thanks to the soft waltz by Strauss playing from the stereo in the corner.

"Yes." Sherlock twirled her under his arm, making her giggle and him smile. "You have a natural grace while dancing I haven't seen before."

"Wow…" Molly muttered to herself before her eyes became distant as she became lost in thought. The distant look soon became troubled, and she opened her mouth to say something but quickly shut it with a shake of her head.

"What is it?" asked Sherlock, gently squeezing her waist and slowly down their steps slightly.

"Nothing, it's stupid and not worth mentioning," said Molly, her now misty eyes trained on the bowtie now hanging untied around his neck.

"_Molly_," said Sherlock in that tone Molly knew better than to argue with.

She gave a self-loathing sigh and said, "I just remembered John and Mary's wedding and…seeing you waltz with that bridesmaid as I passed that room on the way to the loo…I just wondered if I was better than…" Her cheeks were burning and she still couldn't look him in the eye. "I felt so guilty and hated myself for feeling jealous that day…it's probably the biggest reason I didn't go after you when I saw you leave the wedding early…" Her voice faded as she shut her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that always accompany a painful memory.

Thankfully, Sherlock ended that by pausing their waltz, cupping Molly's face and pressing his lips to hers in a very tender kiss. Molly melted into him instantly with a soft moan.

"I should have known you noticed my departure," he murmured after lifting his lips from hers. "You always see me."

Molly managed to return his soft smile. "Once it was my curse."

"Once I was in screaming self-denial, and I will always regret making you wait so long for me to come to my senses."

"It taught me patience, at least, and made it all the more wonderful when you did." Molly rested her forehead on his shoulder. "Promise me I will never take this for granted for one second."

"Molly Hooper, soon to be Molly Holmes, you of all people know that I am _never _boring." He pecked her nose and resumed their waltz. "And for the record, Janine's dancing talent was abysmal, and the only reason I pulled her aside was to try and improve that since the Watsons wanted us to follow the tradition of the best man and the maid of honor being the second couple to dance after the bride and groom." Sherlock then dipped Molly, causing her to give a squeak of surprise, making him give a wolfish grin. "Now, have your insecurities been dealt with like the absolutely unfounded pests that they are?"

Molly's smile was more radiant than the diamond on her ring finger. "For tonight, at least." She lifted her head and gave him her own tender kiss.

"Excellent," breathed Sherlock, bringing her back up to finish the waltz with an elegant flourish.

* * *

**A/N: **_Oh, I've been looking forward to fulfilling Sherlock's daydream from the first prompt! And if you're wondering why they aren't dancing to the composition that Sherlock started composing in that prompt, don't you worry - that will come in a later prompt! These have got to be the only two people who would find waltzing in full formal wear most romantic in a morgue than anywhere else. Gotta love 'em for that, those perfect-for-each-other-nuts. Review, please, and Happy Easter!_


	21. Baking and Cooking

**21\. Baking and Cooking**

At nearly two years old, Emma Margaret Watson grew and learned a little more each day. She had become a pro at what her father and Uncle Greg called "the waddle walk," reaching surprising speeds if she had a destination in mind. She particularly loved crawling up the stairs, or climbing anything she could really. This meant that, when she was not in her crib, high-chair or play-pen, Emma always had an adult keeping a sharp eye on her.

Now, the adult babysitting her could afford to relax a bit, since Emma was safely strapped in her high-chair. Now she could only wiggle her legs restlessly and exercise the ability she hadn't become quite as proficient in as moving around: talking. It wasn't that she was a quiet child or didn't try to speak as well as the adults in her life. On the contrary, she could be quite a chatterbox when she wanted to be. But being only twenty-one months old made quite a lot of her chatter adorable jibberish.

"Sheh-wog! Wah doh!"

Sherlock looked up from the large blue bowl in which he was mixing butter, flour, eggs and other ingredients. He looked at the fair-haired little midget sitting in the high-chair with her mother's eyes and her father's pout and grinned. "One moment, Emma. The texture of the dough needs to be consistent before we can have a taste and add the chocolate chips."

Just then, he heard the front door open and close. A minute later, his future wife walked into the kitchen and smiled at the sight of Sherlock and their goddaughter. "Dearest," greeted Sherlock softly.

"Hello, love," replied Molly, smiling. She then approached Emma's high-chair and crouched down to kiss her hello. "Having fun with Sherlock, Emma?"

"Mah-wee! Mah-wee here!" exclaimed Emma, waving her arms and legs around frantically, wanting her godmother to get her out of the chair. But Molly merely kissed her cheeks and ruffled her blonde hair before turning to Sherlock, who kissed her mouth the same way Mummy and Daddy kissed.

"You're baking cookies?" asked Molly. Her tone was light, but her brown eyes were tinged with worry. She remembered very well that this is what Mummy Holmes did for her son whenever he'd had a bad day.

Thankfully, Sherlock kissed her again reassuringly. "Don't worry. Both of us just had a hankering for something sweet. Would you like a helping of dough before I mix the chocolate chips in?"

"If you all are joining me, absolutely!"

Smiling, Sherlock finished stirring the dough to the perfect consistency, and Molly got three tiny bowls and spoons from the cupboard. She couldn't help but glance in pride at Sherlock. Ever since Emma had been born, Sherlock had made an effort to really separate his experiments from culinary endeavors to make the place more sanitary for Emma, the biggest example being a second refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen that housed all non-culinary specimens.

Soon all three of them were happily munching on the sweet raw cookie dough. While Sherlock and Molly used spoons, Emma dug her pudgy hands right in and helped herself.

"So, when are her parents due to pick her up?" asked Molly.

"After dark," replied Sherlock, shrugging. "John wanted to take Mary out for a nice dinner for their anniversary."

Molly nodded. "So, shall I make her favorite for dinner, then?"

Sherlock grinned. "I've got all the ingredients here."

"Good," said Molly, licking the last of the dough from her fingers. When she saw the way Sherlock was looking at her, she grinned and said, "Cat got your tongue?"

"No, just annoyed that you did that first," said Sherlock, indicating her fingers.

Before Molly could get too red in the face, a restless twenty-one month old made her presence known again. "Sheh-wog! Mah-wee! Wah moe, wah moe!"

Both laughed and Sherlock said, "Not until they are baked. Mustn't ruin your appetite, right? Not when Molly is going to make _spaghetti _for us!"

Emma's face immediately lit up in a baby-toothed grin. "Yum yum!"

Both adults laughed, and when Molly had knelt before Emma to tickle her, Sherlock looked at them both and nurtured the hope that, one day soon, they would be doing this with a little one that they would create together.

* * *

**A/N: **_Oh, I do love writing baby fluff! And don't you worry – Sherlock will get his wish before this series is done, and the name will start with an A…You're welcome. Now review, please!_


	22. In Battle, Side by Side

**22\. In Battle, Side by Side**

"So, it is down to you and it is down to me."

Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes a bit, recognizing the quote from "The Princess Bride." This criminal was clearly not an original, and it was clear from Sherlock's demeanor that he was not impressed, either. She could see from his body language and facial expressions that, while he was alert, he was not tense. Molly wished that he would be at least a _little _bit tense. This criminal may not be very original or bright in Sherlock's eyes, but he had a ten-inch butcher knife in his hand.

Not daring to breathe too deeply, Molly walked into the darkened room of the abandoned warehouse that this child kidnapper had made his hideout. An ideal spot in the middle of the Scottish countryside, frankly. Sherlock originally hadn't wanted to bring Molly along, but since John was suffering from the flu and Sherlock couldn't act alone, it had to be Molly.

They'd tracked the criminal to his hideout and come in the dead of night silently with the local authorities (who had wisely listened to Sherlock from the very beginning). Upon entering the warehouse alone, the two had split up: Molly to rescue the child, and Sherlock to catch the criminal. Thankfully, she had found the child very quickly, unharmed but quite spooked. Once the little boy was safe with the local force outside, Molly saw that Sherlock and the criminal were not with them, so impulsively she went back inside. She'd followed the sound of voices through the corridors and picked up a cricket bat that she nearly tripped over. It must have been the little boy's, since he'd disappeared after a school cricket match.

Now, Molly was sneaking up behind the criminal, who had his back to the entrance in which she'd come, while he spoke to Sherlock. As she got closer, her eyes caught Sherlock's for a brief millisecond, and she understood why he did not appear as tense as he normally would: he knew she would come through for him. When had she not?

Once she'd gotten close enough, Molly made a silent prayer for strength and forgiveness for the act she was about to commit, and whacked the criminal across the back of his head with the small cricket bat. She knew it had worked when his rant immediately stopped, and he had collapsed to the ground a split second later.

Sherlock was immediately on the ground, kicking away the knife and tying up the criminal's wrists behind his back. After texting the local police to come and collect him, Sherlock got up and approached Molly. He had a proud, beaming and adoring grin on his face. "That's my girl," he murmured before wrapping her in his arms for a kiss.

Molly accepted the hug that followed just as gratefully, still shaken that she was capable of doing something that John or Mary would have done in this situation, and just as well to boot!

* * *

**A/N: **_Short but satisfactory, I think. The next one is going to be angsty, for those of you who know which prompt comes next. Sorry, but it needs to be done. Review, please!_


	23. Arguing

**23\. Arguing**

Sherlock Holmes was in the middle of updating his website when the door to 221B opened quite violently. With that amount of force, Sherlock expected to see John or Greg, since it always seemed like he was saying something that they would term "not good." But it wasn't either of them – it was Molly. And it didn't take a consulting detective to know that she was angry.

"What is going on?" she demanded, walking towards him and pulling out her mobile from her jacket pocket. "Why did you send me this text?"

Molly shoved her mobile right in front of Sherlock's face so he could re-read the text he had sent her half an hour ago:

_There is an opening at city hall Friday at three, so we should have the ceremony then. Since you have Friday afternoon off, the sooner the better. John and Mary can serve as witnesses. SH_

Immediately, Sherlock felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the same feeling he had gotten at the disastrous Christmas party six years ago when he'd read the label on Molly's present. But his face only showed a calm indifference, not quite believing that he needed to defend himself. After he'd sent the text, he'd pushed it from his mind as he'd turned to his website and the cleaning up that it needed.

_Perhaps because you knew that it was a bloody awful idea to suggest such a thing!_

_ Shut up, John-conscience!_

Unfortunately, Sherlock Holmes was never one to cower, hang his head, grovel or beg, so he retained a calm and indifferent demeanor when he replied: "I would think that the meaning is fairly obvious, Molly. It shouldn't be too difficult for you to gather."

Molly looked taken aback, as though he had slapped her. She stepped back from him and lowered her mobile. Now she looked just as hurt as she looked angry, and Sherlock's stomach just got heavier. "Sherlock…" she said, her voice beginning to shake. "When I told you where I'd like us to be married, you gave me no objections. Why have you changed your mind and want to do it this way?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have always wanted to do it this way, Molly. You know how I feel about ceremonies like this. I believe I made those feelings perfectly clear during my best man speech at John's wedding. It's all excess and show, and it wouldn't be right for the two of us!"

"But I don't want excess and show!" cried Molly. "Did I ever tell you that I wanted a huge venue, lots of guests, an hours-long reception, a poofy gown, over-priced food, and the day to become more about pleasing the guests than about us getting married? All I said was that I wanted the ceremony to take place in a chapel in the village where I grew up. That's all I said! Is that too much to ask?"

Knowing that she was correct in calling out his first and very weak argument, Sherlock got irritated and rolled his eyes. "Molly, I have never been one for tradition. Does it really matter if the ceremony takes place in a church or a government building?"

Molly gave him a look that clearly said, _Really?_ "So, the man who says he isn't one for tradition is the same man who put his grandmother's engagement ring on my finger and is waiting until we're married to be intimate. That makes me think that he is more than capable of seriously considering having the ceremony in a little chapel that can barely seat fifty people. And it also makes me wonder why he mentions our getting married in a text message like an errand we should run before the week is done!"

He was in real trouble now and he knew it. Molly looked positively furious now, and she had shot down every single one of his feeble arguments with brilliant fire. Now, Sherlock could never deny that he loved how much more confident Molly had become around him since the Fall. But not since she had slapped him three times for using drugs during the Magnussen case had she shown this much fire towards _him_. And he didn't like it now just as he didn't like it then.

"Molly, you're not even religious, so why does this mean so much to you?" he asked in exasperation.

"I never said I wasn't religious at all, Sherlock, and forgive me for wanting to get married in the chapel where my parents got married."

"But Molly, they're _dead_! You don't have any parents or family who can or would come to this!"

Instantly, Molly's flushed face became pale white, and her big brown eyes filled with tears as she took a staggering step back as if he'd pushed her. Instantly, Sherlock wished he could have bitten his tongue off in the most excruciating way possible. Guilt and remorse filled his already heavy stomach. Unfortunately, it also seemed to crush his vocal chords and nervous system, so he just sat there dumb as a rock.

After a few seconds of horrible silence, Molly bit her lip, hung her head, and was out of 221B Baker Street and quite far away by the time Sherlock had regained the ability and good sense to move.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry, guys, but it had to happen. I wanted to prove that, even when the two of them are in a happy and close relationship, it won't prevent Sherlock from saying, as Molly would say, "horrible things" from time to time. Don't worry: there are seven prompts to go and do you think they'd be apart for all of them? Review please!_


	24. Making Up

**24\. Making Up**

The argument had taken place at midday, and it had taken Sherlock three solid minutes after she had bolted out of 221B to regain his senses and go after her. But when he found her flat empty and someone else working the rest of her shift at St. Bart's, his guilt and remorse had caught up to him a hundredfold. Not knowing even remotely where to begin in fixing this situation, he'd swallowed his pride with a bitter taste of reality and gone to the Watsons' house.

No sooner had Sherlock told them what had happened than Mary had slapped him across the face and John had slapped him across the back of the head – both with very hard force – followed by the both of them yelling at, scolding and criticizing him for the better part of the next half hour. Emma was taking a nap in her room upstairs, and she could sleep through the most powerful of thunderstorms.

Sherlock took all of it without putting up much of a fight. He knew he deserved all of it, and even worse from Molly when he found her. And, being the brilliant consulting detective that he was, it didn't take him long to figure out where she had gone. What took up his entire afternoon was him putting into motion his way that would hopefully earn her forgiveness.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Sherlock found her. He had taken the train to Molly's home village in Northampton and walked from the station to the Chapel of the Holy Family. The tiny building was off the main road, with a lovely wood surrounding it and the cemetery next to it. Sherlock saw that the graves of Molly's parents had no visitors, but he did see a fresh bouquet of violets resting between the headstones. After laying down a white lily he had purchased on the way next to the violets, he walked to the front door of the chapel with his nerves at astronomical proportions.

The large wooden doors were not quite silent as he opened one of them to enter the chapel, so he knew that she would know she had company. He immediately spotted Molly, sitting in one of the first pews. She didn't turn her head to see who had joined her. Holding his breath, Sherlock slowly walked up the short center aisle. Molly had been right when she'd said the chapel could seat fifty people at maximum; the space was certainly small and intimate.

When he was parallel to the first aisle, Sherlock turned to face Molly. She didn't turn her head to look at him, keeping her gaze on the altar, but he knew that she knew it was him. Her profile showed how tired and sad that she was, from the slumped shoulders to the tear tracks on her cheeks. Sherlock didn't think that his shame and guilt could grow any more, but it did.

Looking at her, Sherlock tried to find the right words, but all he could say was her name: "Molly…" His voice was quiet, even timid, like a child frighteningly asking his parents if he can sleep in their bed tonight.

Her response surprised him. She didn't say a word, but she did scoot down on the pew, indicating that he was allowed to sit down beside her. Sherlock gratefully took the seat beside Molly, making sure not to touch her lest she move further away. Molly still did not turn her gaze from the altar to him, and she gave no indication that she was going to say anything anytime soon. _She is not going to prompt me for an apology. Even in her anger, my Molly will let me set the pace._ Sherlock tried to take comfort and strength from this. He couldn't help but feel intimidated by the location, setting and atmosphere. He was not and would never be a religious man, but he would show respect in a place that meant so much to his Molly. It only emphasized how much was at stake, how even one little mistake could have disastrous consequences. Looking at her, in the light of the candles and the setting sunlight coming in through the stained-glass windows, Sherlock prayed to whatever deity Molly believed in that he would not muck this up any more than he already had.

"I had a newlywed couple come in as clients this morning," he finally began, choosing each word with care as he looked at her profile. "They wanted me to find out who had sabotaged their reception with a petty prank involving the fire alarm setting off sprinklers. It took me less than a minute to solve, but what disturbed me the most was how angered they were of how all of the…materialistic aspects of their wedding were ruined – cake, decorations, her dress, et cetera – when people in their right minds should just laugh at the innocent prank that it was. I know from John and Mary's wedding how easy it is to get caught up in the wedding rather than the marriage, and I didn't want that to happen to us. So I sent the text on a stupid impulse after they left while I was still annoyed with them, and I couldn't take it back…though I certainly wish I could."

Molly's posture and expression had relaxed a bit hearing his explanation. But she still didn't speak or look at him, so in desperation, Sherlock got up and knelt in front of her, which forced her to look at him. Her large eyes were bright and bloodshot, and her lower lip trembled when she finally said brokenly, "You said such a horrible thing, Sherlock…"

Sherlock grimaced and hung his head, remembering when she had said something very similar at that Christmas party so long ago.. "It was reprehensible and came from meaningless and unfounded frustration…" He reached into his jacket pocket and held out his fist to Molly. "Please take this as the most sincere apology I can give you."

Holding his breath, he opened his fist, revealing a locket. It was made of gold and had the size and shape of a shilling. Engraved on it was a pretty rose, and it was clear that the locket itself was decades old. The sight of it made Molly gasp, covering her mouth with one hand. With the other trembling one, she reached out and lifted it from Sherlock's palm. "Is…is this what I…"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, it really is your mother's locket."

"But…but I lost it years ago!"

"I know. I remember you wore it often before I met John. I had to call on the help of all my homeless network, but I tracked it down, replaced the chain with a stronger one, and had it cleaned. Also…look inside."

Her fingers still trembling, Molly opened the locket and gasped again when she saw fresh images of both her mother and father inside.

Looking at him, he gave a tiny and nervous smile. "When we marry, in this chapel, you can wear it so you will remember they will be close, watching, and with you forever."

Molly shut her eyes again, a tear coming out of each eye, and she pressed her lips together. Then, she leaned forward and rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock felt a great weight lift off his heart and soul as he wrapped his arms around his Molly, holding her tight to him in the sweetest relief he had ever known.

When she had let out the last of her silent sobs, Sherlock breathed in her ear, "Can you ever forgive me, Molly?"

Molly lifted her head from his shoulder and gave him a tiny smile with love in her eyes. She looked as relieved as he felt. "Of course I can, Sherlock." When she saw his taken aback look of shock, she actually chuckled and cupped his face. "I knew when we became more than friends, Sherlock, that you wouldn't change into someone else, and I would never want you to. We all say things that we wish we could take back, or hurt the ones we hold most dear even when it's the last thing we want to do."

Shame again filled his eyes. "I thought I'd gotten better…"

"You have!" said Molly firmly. "Look how far we've come since we met, Sherlock. Not even _you _would be able to deny how much better you've become in these matters. But I know you, and I know that sometimes you are going to say things that will hurt me. But as long as you recognize when you do that, feel genuine remorse and learn from your mistakes – like right now – I'll always, _always, _forgive you."

Now Sherlock was the one to close his eyes, causing a tear to escape. Molly kissed it away as he breathed, "I couldn't last this lifetime without you, Molly."

She giggled. "I know, love. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. Thank you for coming here to bring me home."

"Always, dearest. I am _never_ letting you go."

Nothing in that next moment, not even the fact that they were in a chapel, could have stopped Sherlock from kissing Molly more desperately and gratefully than he ever had before.

When it ended, a rather breathless and blushing Molly held out her mother's locket to him. "Help me put it on, please." He gladly did, caressing her neck as she did so. Looking at him again, she looked serene and happy. "Let's go home."

Just as happy and grinning like the lucky idiot that he was, Sherlock helped her up and they walked hand-in-hand out of the little chapel. Both knew that the next time they would leave here, they would be husband and wife. And what a lovely thought that was.

* * *

**A/N: **_Do you really think Sherlock would be so stupid as to let his pathologist go? Not MY Sherlock! He's learned his lesson: he could never last one day without her. Review, please!_


	25. Gazing Into Each Other's Eyes

**25\. Gazing Into Each Other's Eyes**

One beautiful summer morning, Sherlock and Molly were lying together in Sherlock's bed as the sun came up outside. Both were fully clothed in their pajamas, and both lay on their sides facing each other with sleepy eyes and loving smiles. And they had several very good reasons to smile:

1) Yesterday, Molly had become an official resident of 221B Baker Street with Sherlock. She had unpacked the last of her possessions, and what a joyful moment it had been for the both of them, especially Sherlock. Now her home was his home, for the rest of their lives.

2) They'd spent the night together, spooning in his bed while they slept – him behind her this time. After unpacking the last of Molly's things, both had been tired and gone to sleep not long after. On a subconscious level, both were preparing themselves for their small separation that would begin today and last until tomorrow.

3) Tomorrow was their wedding day.

"What time is your train leaving?" asked Sherlock.

Molly smiled and pressed his cheek. He knew perfectly well what time the train was leaving; he was just hoping that she had gotten a later train. "Same as when I purchased them: 12:20 PM. And all four of us ladies are expecting you men to see us off."

With a pout on his face, he nodded. Molly giggled and kissed his nose. "I still wish you would leave later in the afternoon," he said for the hundredth time.

"I know, love," she said, still stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. "But I'm not doing it to torture you. I'm doing this because I want to spend my last night with my parents' name in the village I was born and bred in. Sentimental reason, yes, but too bad."

Sherlock sighed and nodded. "I _am _glad that you won't be alone. I know that Mrs. Hudson is very excited to spend some time in the country."

"So is Mary," said Molly. "She's excited to bring Emma to a quieter, greener place. Don't you or John worry about us. We'll have fun together, us girls." She smirked. "Perhaps a more quiet and tame fun that you fellas tonight, it being your stag and all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I think John, Greg and Mycroft are more excited about it than I am. And this time, there is no way I am going above my limit. Not only did John's stag night teach me that the hard way, but I know _you _would slap me at the altar if I was hungover when we married."

"You're absolutely right," said Molly, laughing. "I've already told those three that if any of them, especially you, got too drunk, I would get them in serious trouble."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate on how you would do that, dearest?"

"For Mycroft, I'll tell Anthea. For John, I'll tell Mary. For Greg, I'll tell Janine. And you, as you know, would have to answer to me _and _your mum." The DI and PA had begun dating not long after Sherlock and Molly had gotten engaged.

Sherlock chuckled and stroked her waist. "Point well taken, Molly." He leaned forward a bit so their foreheads rested against each other. Their gazes never broke. "Do you really have to take the 12:20 train?"

Molly nuzzled his nose with an indulgent smile on her face. "Yes, Sherlock. I've already told you why, not to mention your parents are already in the village and are meeting us at the station." She wrapped her arms around him. "We've still got a few hours to be together here, Sherlock. And starting tomorrow, there's no getting rid of me."

"_Good_," he growled, holding her closer in turn.

They lay together in peaceful silence for a while, just looking into each other's eyes, until Sherlock spoke. "May I ask you a question, Molly?"

Molly grinned. "Since when do you ask for permission to ask a question, Sherlock?"

He chuckled before sobering again. "It is something that I have wondered about since the…the argument." He was still very ashamed of that incident a month ago. "When I said you weren't religious, your reply made me think that wasn't necessarily true." When she bit her lip and didn't answer right away, he said quickly, "I will not think any less of you, Molly. I have never and would never believe you are stupid."

She smiled gratefully at him before answering him. "Well, I have never considered myself a member or believer of any specific religion or spiritualism…but I've always felt that there is a higher power or deity out there. I've just never considered myself wise enough or arrogant enough to try to label or define something that is beyond our understanding...Now, may I ask _you _a question, Sherlock?"

"Of course you can, Molly," he replied, still in awe of her answer to his question.

She bit her lip again. "Well, for tomorrow night..." She blushed, knowing what they would be doing tomorrow night. "I know we'll both be ready, but we'll both be nervous. Since it's your first time, will you tell me now if there is anything I can do to make it...easier or better for you?" Her tone was not teasing or naughty, but genuinely concerned and compassionate.

Sherlock listened to this, and didn't reply, just kept looking into her eyes. She gazed into his turquoise ones, growing a little more nervous the longer his silence lasted. "Sherlock?" she finally said quietly.

"I love you," he finally replied. And as he told her in a hushed voice what he would like her to do, he felt that no deity or higher power could be more wondrous than the person into whose doe brown eyes he would never tire of gazing into.

* * *

**A/N: **_I think you all know which one is coming next! And yes…part of it will have an M rating…I mean, it's about time, right? Review, review, review!_


	26. Getting Married

**26\. Getting Married**

Sherlock was trying to pin the white rosebud to his lapel when the door to the chapel's ante-room opened and his best man walked in. He wore a matching black suit, white shirt, and dark purple tie. He was also wearing a broad grin on his face. "Relax!" he exclaimed as he walked up to his best friend. "Here, I'll get that. Don't want to prick yourself right now, I'm sure."

The groom let out a deep breath and gladly let John pin the damn flower. "Why do I feel so nervous when I know that this is the best and wisest decision of my life? You're married, you know what I'm talking about."

John chuckled. "Yes, I do. I know you remember how I nearly got sick on my wedding morning. I think it's because we know that we are entering into something that you do _not _want to screw up, like you've never wanted to not screw up anything before."

Sherlock nodded. "That makes sense…" He shook his head after John finished. "Why did she pick me? I don't deserve her…" he said quietly, more to himself than to John.

Thankfully, his best man heard him, and gripped his shoulder. "Yeah, you do."

Sherlock was shocked. "Why?"

"Because she chose you. And I meant it when I said you are the best and wisest man I'll ever know."

Sherlock had never been more grateful for John Watson in that moment, and clapped the doctor's shoulder in return. No words were needed.

A moment later, three more men entered the room. First came Lestrade, wearing a broad and proud grin. "They've just left the hotel, and will be here very soon. Best get out there."

The groom's nerves sped up again, and Lestrade stepped forward and shook his head with both of his. "Good luck, Sherlock. I can think of no better blessing than may your marriage be better than mine in every way."

Sherlock couldn't help but return the grin. Lestrade stepped back and moved aside for Sherlock's father and brother to come forward. Mycroft stood before him, and Sherlock gave him a dangerous warning with his eyes. But Mycroft merely gave the smallest, softest, most sincere smile he could give.

"She is the best thing to ever happen to you, Lockie. I truly wish you both nothing but happiness."

For a moment, Sherlock got a lump in his throat at hearing his childhood nickname and such sincerity he didn't think his big brother was capable of anymore. But he swallowed it down, and they shared a nod that was more than enough.

Then his father stood in front of him with tears in his eyes, and put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. The man who had never intellectually understood him but always emotionally in a way only a very select few did said softly, "I am so proud of you, my son."

Sherlock didn't even try to fight the hug that followed, and then led the way into the chapel to await the arrival of his bride.

* * *

_Sherlock took his time as he took off his shoes, his socks, his blazer, and his tie. He then sat on the edge of his bed, unbuttoning his cuffs. The nerves he had felt hours ago were only buzzing at a small fraction of the rate they'd been before, which relieved him. Perhaps because now, after the excitement of the day, it was only him and Molly, at home, about to do what they were meant to do together. He would not let her down. He would be the husband that she deserved. He would make sure that she knew that no other person on this earth was loved as much as her tonight._

* * *

Molly was looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror of her hotel room when Mary came in from the one next door. Her matron of honor wore a purple dress that would match the men's ties, and the grin she had on her face was unrestrained. It transformed into a soft "oh" of awe when she saw the bride.

"Oh, Molly…" she said, and without another word ran to Molly to embrace her tightly.

Molly was laughing with tears in her eyes when Mary pulled away. "I still can't believe this is really happening! I feel so jittery and jumpy, like this might all disappear if I make a wrong move."

"Oh, hush with that silly talk," said Mary, taking a handkerchief and carefully wiping away the tears that had fallen to Molly's cheeks. "This is the happiest day of your life, and you mustn't waste a moment with silly talk like that."

Molly nodded and took a deep breath, looking at the woman who had become her dearest friend. "Mary…I can never thank you enough for…well, everything!"

Mary grinned. "You deserve it, Molly, more than anybody in this world."

As they pulled away from their second hug, the hotel room door opened again, and three more ladies came in. First came Mrs. Hudson, with happy tears streaming down her face. She hugged Molly to her, whispering, "I'm so happy you've found each other, my dear."

"Me too, Mrs. Hudson, me too," replied Molly, squeezing her old friend and new landlady. "I'll make sure he leaves no more bullets in your wall."

"Good girl!" Mrs. Hudson stepped aside as Emma hugged her godmother round the legs. "Mah-wee pwetty! Wuv you, Mah-wee!"

"I love you, too, my flower girl," said Molly, stroking the girl's golden curls. "And thank you. You are very pretty, too."

Emma grinned and went to stand by her mother.

Finally, Violet Holmes walked up to her new daughter and cupped her face. Molly got a lump in her throat, seeing the eyes that she had passed down to her son. "My son could receive no greater blessing than you, my dear."

As the woman she could now call her mother held her, Molly knew that she too was truly blessed.

* * *

_Molly took her time in the bathroom of her new home. There was no rush – they had all the time in the world now, the rest of their lives together. She took off and hung up her simple white dress with care, and removed her heels and other items of clothing before turning to her hair. With a sure and slow hand, she removed each violet flower and brushed out her long, wavy tresses of auburn brown. She was glad that she had worn very little make-up today; she knew how Sherlock felt about make-up. Her heart was pounding slowly and surely. Yes, she knew that she was more than ready to truly become Sherlock's wife._

* * *

Five minutes after Sherlock and John had taken their places on the left-hand side of the vicar in front of the altar, the wooden doors to the chapel opened. Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson walked in with excited smiles and quickly got into the pews. The vicar smiled and nodded to the harpist off to the side, who immediately began playing the beautiful instrument.

Mary and Emma appeared in the doorway, and Sherlock could practically feel John beaming next to him. Gently, Mary nudged Emma forward, and she waddled down the aisle. Though only two years old, she took her role as flower girl very seriously. Though she could walk very fast yet, she walked steadily and scattered the rose petals evenly before her as she walked. When she reached the end of the aisle, she smiled eagerly at her father and godfather, and each gave her beaming smiles that let her know that she had done her job well. Mrs. Hudson then gently pulled her into the aisle to stand beside her.

Then it was Mary's turn to walk down the aisle, at a quick but elegant pace, knowing that the groom was more than ready to see his bride. She held a modest bouquet in her hands, which consisted of lavender and white roses. She smiled and John and winked at Sherlock before taking her place at the right-hand of the minister, leaving room for the bride.

Now the few people in the pews stood up, and the harp's gentle music reached a crescendo. All eyes turned to the open chapel doors, and in the next minute, the bride came into view. She was the image of serenity and beauty as she walked down the aisle, wearing a simple and full-length dress of soft white fabric. The sleeves were long, the neckline was modest, the waist was cinched, and the skirt was flowing. In her hands she held a beautiful bouquet of white roses, English violets, baby's breath and ferns. Her mother's locket hung proudly on her chest. Her long hair flowed down her back in waves, a sprinkling of English violets sewn into the tresses.

Sherlock was sure that his heart stopped just as his breath did when he saw her.

The music ended when Molly reached her destination beside Sherlock, facing him after handing her bouquet to Mary, with a peaceful smile and eyes that glowed with her great love for him.

His nerves were instantly calmed. His Molly was here now and for always.

* * *

_Sherlock was still sitting on edge of his bed when he heard the bathroom door open. He sat up a little straighter as his – their – bedroom door opened and Molly entered. For the second time that day, both his breath and his heart stopped at the sight of her. She was bare of foot, bare of jewelry, and her hair was down and unadorned. And the only thing she wore was his favorite and finest dressing gown, made of crimson silk. She had done exactly what he had asked her to do yesterday morning while they had laid in bed. He could not count how many times he had dreamed of her like this, and now it was a reality. Softly, she shut the door behind her, and approached him the same way she had approached him in the chapel: with a slow and sure step. His hands reached out, and she stepped between his legs. Overwhelmed that this moment had finally come, Sherlock rested his head on her breast, and held her to him tightly. She held him round the shoulders just as tightly, placing soft kisses on his head._

* * *

"I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take thee, Molly Alice Hooper, to be my wedded wife." His voice was sure, strong, and held no hesitation.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes held each other's hands, and beamed with teary eyes and proud smiles as their younger son became a husband. Not even Mycroft could help but be touched.

"I, Molly Alice Hooper, take thee, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to be my wedded husband." Her voice was firm, rich, and held no hesitation.

Mrs. Hudson wiped tears from he cheeks for the hundredth time that day, while Emma hugged her piglet doll in happiness. Not even Greg could help but choke up a bit.

The vicar turned to the groom. "Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, give thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Sherlock smiled. "I will."

John grinned as his eyes watered, feeling more proud of his best friend than he ever had before.

The vicar turned to the bride. "Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, give thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Molly smiled. "I will."

Mary held the bouquets to her chest, a tear falling down her cheek at the sheer sweetness of this wedding of true love.

The vicar nodded in satisfaction. "And now for the rings."

* * *

_Sherlock never took his eyes from Molly's as he untied the sash of the crimson dressing gown and let it pool around her feet. Only when she gave him a reassuring smile did he let himself take in the sight of his naked bride. His hands ghosted over her, following his gaze, before he turned it back up to her face._

_ "Beautiful," he breathed, and he meant it. For the first time, she truly believed she was._

_ Feeling her fingers become restless in his curls, Sherlock smiled and brought her hands to his neck and stood up, so she could undress him now. His heart beat faster with each button and clasp she undid. Finally, after helping her remove his trousers and pants, he stood bare before his bride. She slid her hands over his chest, his ribs, his stomach, his waist, and finally came to rest over his heart beating as hard as a drum._

_ "Beautiful," she breathed, and she meant it. For the first time, he truly believed he was. _

_ Their lips met, and their restraint disappeared. Their hands explored each other as their kiss deepened with passion. It wasn't long before they were pressed together and let themselves fall back onto their bed._

* * *

"With this ring, as a token of my love and devotion, I thee wed."

Sherlock slid the silver band onto Molly's left ring finger, never to come off again.

"With this ring, as a token of my love and devotion, I thee wed."

Molly slid the silver band onto Sherlock's left ring finger, never to come off again.

The vicar smiled at the couple whose happiness was about to be complete. "It therefore gives me great pleasure to declare this union official, and pronounce that you are now husband and wife together."

Sherlock beamed as brightly as the sun; Molly smiled radiantly as she laughed breathlessly; the best man and matron of honor didn't bother to hide their happy tears; no other person in that chapel had a dry eye.

The vicar motioned turned to Sherlock. "You may kiss your bride."

Sherlock didn't need to be asked twice. The couple didn't hear the happy cheers and clapping that immediately followed; they were too busy sharing their first kiss as husband and wife.

* * *

_They took their time, not wanting to rush or let this be over with too quickly. As the bride and groom touched, explored, discovered and memorized every inch of their partner with their hands and their mouths, the only sounds that filled the air were soft moans, deep growls, hitched breaths, and soft laughter._

_ When Sherlock entered Molly for the first time, he had to still and gather himself for a moment. Nothing else in his life had ever felt so good, and he knew he was in real danger of letting himself go then and there. He pressed his face to her neck as she stroked his back, willing his body to pace itself, to remember that this wasn't about his pleasure, but hers, no _theirs.

_ Finally, Sherlock lifted his head and looked into his wife's doe-brown eyes, though they were more black since her pupils were so dilated with desire. With those gentle hands she cupped his face and smiled at him, saying exactly what he needed to hear:_

_ "I love you."_

_ He kissed her as sweetly as he could, breathing her new name into her mouth, "Molly Holmes."_

_ "Yes," she confirmed fiercely._

_ Knowing that she had faith in him, Sherlock felt confident enough to start moving slowly. The sounds she made, the way she gripped his shoulders and back, drove him on, his head constantly lowering to kiss her face, her lips, her neck, her breasts. Their pace picked up, his thrusts became harder, especially when she wrapped both legs around his waist, giving him a better angle._

_ When he felt himself beginning to lose control, he reached between them and urgently rubbed her little nub. He was determined that this time, his first time, their first time, she would reach her pleasure right as he reached his. "Molly, come for me now!"_

_ "Oh, Sherlock, I'm so close!"_

_ And in the next moment, both climaxed, her with a cry and him with a roar. They rode that wave together, and what a wonderful ride it was. He collapsed atop her, and she held him firmly to her; no way she could let him go just yet. He rested his head on her chest as she stroked his face and kissed his head. In the sweet afterglow, still joined to his wife, he could only say one thing:_

_ "I love you."_

* * *

**A/N: **_I hope I have satisfied all of you. I wanted to show them getting married both legally and biblically, and I hope that I have succeeded with the mirroring of the day and night. Reviews please, the more the merrier!_


	27. On One Of Their Birthdays

**27\. On One Of Their Birthdays**

Molly could feel herself being pulled from a deep sleep by a gentle nuzzling at her neck. If Toby hadn't passed away shortly before Sherlock's return from the dead, she would have thought it was him. But now, she knew it was something she had once thought she'd never experience outside of her dreams.

She smiled without opening her eyes, raising a hand to run through her husband's curls, for it was indeed him who had crawled atop her and was now kissing her neck. "Hello, love," she said, her voice deep from sleep.

"Hello, dearest," he murmured into her neck.

"Did you just get back?" she asked, yawning and still not opening her eyes. "Is the case over?"

"Mm-hm," he mumbled, his lips finding hers for a kiss which she gladly returned.

When he pulled his head up, she finally opened her eyes to find his glowing, eager and excited. She giggled, having a good idea of what he wanted now that he was home.

In the three months they had been married, it had become part of his post-case routine. This routine was simple: When he finished a case, no matter the outcome, the first thing Sherlock wanted to do was indulge in his body's needs. Before getting married to Molly, this had meant eating and sleeping. Since getting married to Molly, making love to his wife had been added to that equation. If the case had been a success, the lovemaking would be joyful, enthusiastic, and there would be as many soft laughs as sensual moans. If the case hadn't been a success, the lovemaking would be slower and more tender but no less passionate.

Not to say that they only had sex when he'd finished with a case; on the contrary, Molly had been pleasantly shocked at the beast that had awakened in Sherlock once he'd discovered the mystery of being intimate with someone, namely her. Molly's attitude about sex had changed, too, because with Sherlock, it never dulled or became obligatory in anyway. It was always what intimate relations should be: passionate, sensual, and a hell of a lot of fun!

But after she giggled and Sherlock smiled, he surprised her by pulling them both out of bed. "Come on."

Fully awake now, Molly let herself be pulled out of the bedroom (though she dearly hoped they would be returning sooner rather than later). She was wearing what she always wore to sleep now (if she wore pajamas, that is): a pair of panties and one of Sherlock's t-shirts. Even though it was early November now, 221B was never too cold. Once in the sitting room, Molly saw that Sherlock had moved the furniture to the walls, giving them more room to move around but for what?

"Look, Molly," he murmured, pointing to the little clock on their mantle next to Billy the skull. "Two minutes past midnight. And what is today?"

Molly's eyes widened in realization and she looked at her smiling husband. "Oh, Sherlock…"

"Many happy returns, Mrs. Holmes," he murmured, cupping her face and kissing her lips tenderly. "Now I no longer have to wait to give you your gift." With eager steps, he walked to the speaker into which his iPod was plugged, and turned it on. In the next second, the sound of a lone violin filled 221B. It was playing a slow, haunting, sweet and incredibly beautiful melody. Sherlock walked back to his wife and pulled her to him by his right hand, resting it on the small of her back. Instinctively, her left hand came up to rest on his shoulder. He took her right hand in his left, resting them over his heart. Then they easily fell into an intimate waltz, for this melody was indeed a waltz.

"Did you…?" she asked very softly, not wanting to drown out this beautiful music.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "You inspired it."

Molly blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. "W-when did you…?"

"Right after the supposed return of Moriarty was resolved," Sherlock answered just as softly.

Molly bit her lip. "Will you tell me how I…inspired it? Please?"

Sherlock smiled and kissed her nose. He then went on to tell her how the waltz had come to him: an evening when he was bored, playing his violin, giving a musical key to each person he held dear, daydreaming of waltzing with Molly as the composition just came to him in E-flat major. Molly's reaction was to get tears in her eyes and press her face to his chest. Sherlock kissed her head before resting his cheek atop it for the rest of the waltz.

When the melody ended and 221B became silent again, their steps slowed and stops, but they didn't step away from each other's embrace for a long time. Finally, when Sherlock could wait no longer, Sherlock put a finger under Molly's chin and lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. "So…what did you think?" His voice was soft, a little nervous. "Did you like it?"

Happy tears flowing down her cheeks, Molly grabbed his face and brought it down for a fierce kiss. "I…_loved _it, Sherlock," she breathed, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "And I _think_ you should take me to bed. _Now._"

Instantly, Sherlock scooped her up bridal style, causing Molly to laugh happily before Sherlock's lips silenced hers. He carried her into the bedroom at top speed and kicked the door shut behind him.

Neither emerged from that room until Molly's birthday was nearly halfway done.

X

Molly knew that she had never had a better birthday. But two months later, Molly would reveal to Sherlock that he had given her not one wonderful gift, but two, with the six words that made Sherlock Holmes the happiest man on earth:

"_We're going to have a baby_."

* * *

**A/N: **_So the waltz from the first prompt is finally given to its source of inspiration. Three more prompts to go, which I honestly can't believe, especially how much you all love it. Show me some more love and review, please!_


	28. Doing Something Ridiculous

**28\. Doing Something Ridiculous**

Molly was lying on their bed reading the latest Maeve Binchy novel when she could hear Sherlock enter 221B. She smiled to herself and marked her place, glad that her husband was home from his most recent case.

Very soon after the front door had opened and closed, Molly heard Sherlock's footsteps come towards the bedroom. In the next minute, he had entered with a bright but tired smile on his face. "Thank God that's over," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

"Didn't expect this one to take so long, did you?" asked Molly as she put her book on the night table.

"Lord, no," he grumbled good-naturedly. His task finished, he turned and crawled onto the bed. His lips caught hers in a sweet, sensual kiss. "Hello," he murmured tenderly when he pulled back.

"Hello," she murmured back, caressing his face. "We're both doing well."

"Mind if I ask for myself?" he said, leaning back onto his knees with a playful eyebrow lift.

Molly giggled and motioned to her swollen belly. "Be my guest."

Grinning, Sherlock turned his body so it was facing Molly's middle, and he reverently leaned down over his wife's belly, his big hands gently caressing it. "Hello," he said in as reverent a tone. "Have you been giving your mother a hard time today? Keeping her off her feet?"

As if on command, both felt their little miracle giving Molly's womb a few loving and excited kicks at the sound of its daddy's voice. Both wore enormous and ridiculous grins at this. Catching his eyes, Molly couldn't help but laugh and ruffled his curls.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"I just never thought I would see Sherlock Holmes do something as ridiculous as speak to someone who can't answer back. Highly illogical, if you ask me." Her tone was teasing and loving.

Sherlock shrugged. "Molly, you are talking to the man who spoke to Billy the skull on a regular basis before John moved in. Now, I have a few more things to say so please hush."

Molly gave his curls a loving ruffle before relaxing back into the pillows and listening to her husband tell their unborn child all about his most recent case.

* * *

**A/N: **_Quite short and very sweet this time. Don't worry, you'll meet baby Holmes tomorrow. And anybody who has read my other Sherlolly fics will know a lot about this baby. Review, please!_


	29. Doing Something Sweet

**29\. Doing Something Sweet**

The three Watsons rode up the elevator of St. Bart's Hospital to the maternity ward, all with excited smiles on their faces. After all, it wasn't every day that a new Holmes entered the world.

Molly had been woken up by her first contraction followed by her water breaking before the sun had come up. Sherlock had gotten her to St. Bart's in record time, never leaving her side through the labor and terrorizing the staff if he felt they were not performing to his standards. Molly would have scolded him if she wasn't already preoccupied with bringing their child into the world (which was no easy task). Thankfully, her labor had lasted only five hours.

John and Mary, like the loyal friends they were, had come right after Sherlock's phone call had woken them up. John had helped the staff do their jobs while dealing with Sherlock, and Mary had given Molly great advice and support. They'd waited in the waiting room with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, who had arrived a bit later; Mycroft had left London to fetch the soon-to-be grandparents.

Then, just after nine-thirty in the morning on that beautiful August morning, the proud new papa entered the waiting room. He looked exhausted but so happy, and everybody could tell that his red eyes had cried tears of happiness not despair. In a voice none had heard since he'd spoken his vows to Molly, Sherlock proudly announced the healthy birth of Alethea Johanna Holmes.

John had embraced his friend, who had embraced him tightly back. "She's so perfect, it's frightening," Sherlock had muttered shakily, and John patted his back, having felt the same way when Emma had been born. Mary and Emma had kissed his cheeks, then Mrs. Hudson had hugged him while Lestrade wrung his hand. When Sherlock had gone back to his girls, John and Mary had left to pick up three-year-old Emma early from preschool.

Now, all three were more than ready to meet the newest addition to their circle.

"Now, Emma," said John, kneeling down to his daughter's eye level as he still held her hand. "Remember, you must be quiet and gentle with both Molly and the baby. Both have had a very long and tiring day; the baby will cry if it's bothered, and Molly is very tired and a bit sore."

Mary snorted. "A bit? Hah! Well, perhaps that's appropriate. I didn't think about it too much, I was too happy." John and Mary exchanged a loving smile in remembrance.

Emma nodded. "Okay, Daddy. Can I give them a kiss, though?" Her speech had greatly improved since entering preschool.

"Of course, sweetheart," said Mary, stroking Emma's blond head. John smiled and kissed Emma's cheek as the elevator doors opened on their floor. They were met with Lestrade. "Hello!" he said, giving Emma a quick hug. "I've just been in to see them, but I've gotta get back to the New Yard." He shook his head with a chuckle, and his voice was husky. "She's tiny for a newborn, but she's got Sherlock's hair and Molly's eyes. A winning combo, if you ask me."

John grinned and patted Lestrade's arm. "Hear, hear."

Lestrade nodded. "Best get in there, cause I have a feeling once the grandparents arrive, you won't get a chance to hold her until tomorrow."

"Will do. Well, see you later. We'll all get together when they bring her home."

"Absolutely. Bye, Watsons!"

"Bye, Uncle Greg!" called Emma as the elevator doors shut behind them with Greg inside.

At top speed, the Watsons arrived at the Holmes's room. Mary slowed their steps so they could peek in before announcing themselves. Mrs. Hudson was arranging some flowers brought for the happy couple on the windowsill; Molly was lying in her hospital bed, looking tired but absolutely glowing as she watched her husband; Sherlock was standing by the hospital bed, gazing at the tiny bundle of pink blankets he held that could only hold one thing.

John softly knocked on the door before they all came in, Mary now carrying Emma. "Hello," he softly greeted. He walked to Molly and kissed her cheek. "And how is the happy mother?"

Molly gave a tranquil smile. "Perfect." She indicated towards her husband and child. "He's fallen in love all over again."

Sherlock merely nodded, not taking his eyes off his baby girl. He held out a finger for her, and a tiny hand clumsily reached up but grabbed it firmly. Sherlock's smile was so tender it gave John the impulse to cry. He cleared his throat and approached the taller man. "Well, come on, then," he said, holding out his arms while Mary and Emma greeted Molly. "I want to meet my goddaughter."

Sherlock looked at him, and it seemed to take a great strength for him to relent, but he did. Carefully, the baby was transferred from one man to the other, cooing curiously as her location changed.

John was instantly charmed, and could see Greg had been right. Alethea was certainly a bit small for a newborn, but it seemed that there were no problems due to it since the atmosphere was one of pure joy. The baby wore a little beanie on her head, like all newborn babies in a hospital, but John could see a lock of black hair just peeking out.

"Well, hello, you beauty," he murmured softly, gently touching her cheek with a finger. "It's such an honor to meet you."

The sound of John's voice caused the baby to slowly open it's eyes, revealing big, doe-brown irises that could only have come from her mother.

"Oh, Molly, Sherlock, she's beautiful!" cooed Mary, who was standing next to her husband still holding Emma, who seemed entranced by the sight of such a tiny human.

"Yes, she is," said Sherlock softly. He'd returned to Molly and sat down on the bed beside her. "Thank God she looks like her mother."

Molly blushed and weakly slapped his arm, but rested her head on his shoulder while he gently kissed her lips.

Emma tapped her father's shoulder and softly asked, "Can I give the baby a kiss?"

Both parents smiled, and John nodded.

With great care, Emma leaned down in her mother's arms towards the baby in her father's arms. "Hello," she whispered before gently kissing Alethea's cheek. "I'm going to be your best friend."

The baby let out a coo in response, a little hand waving about which Emma gently grabbed with a smile.

A lump in his throat, John looked at Sherlock, and they exchanged proud grins. Mary and Molly exchanged similar joyful looks. Mrs. Hudson clasped her hands as joyful tears filled her eyes.

They all knew it was inevitable, and none of them had a problem with that, thank you very much.

* * *

**A/N: **_Anything involving Baby Holmes and Baby Watson, destined to be best friends like their fathers, is going to be sugary sweet. I know Alethea exists in another universe I created, but I couldn't resist bringing her back! Review, please, and be ready tomorrow for the conclusion that must come._


	30. Doing Something Hot

**30\. Doing Something Hot**

"Why didn't we go on a honeymoon?" asked Sherlock lazily, lying on his back with his eyes closed.

Molly, who laid draped against him with her head on his bare chest, shrugged. "We never really talked about it. Mary asked me once if we were having one, but I told her that you probably wouldn't like the idea?"

"Whatever gave you that idea, Molly?" he asked, sounding almost offended.

Molly lifted her head, immediately feeling a bit guilty for jumping to conclusions. "Well…a honeymoon is a form of vacation, and the purpose of a vacation is to have a temporary escape from life and work. But when you are without your work, case or experiment…well…" Molly's voice faded, knowing that Sherlock would understand what she was trying to say.

Gently, Sherlock turned them so they lay side-by-side, facing each other in the king-sized bed. "Not an unreasonable deduction to come to, Molly, and once I would have agreed with you. However, judging from the past two days – most of which have been spent in this bed, I might add – I think I have proven that a few days away from London and my work will not drive me out of my mind." His mouth, which had been grazing her neck, pressed against the soft skin there in a playful love bite. Molly moaned and arched against him. "As long as I am with _you, _that is."

Molly grinned, knowing that her husband was right. They had arrived at this private and isolated cottage on the southern coast of France two days ago, and they'd barely been able to enjoy the private beach since. Sherlock had surprised Molly with this long weekend getaway two weeks ago. It had taken a bit of persuading on his part, though. Getting the time of work hadn't been a problem, but this would be the longest stretch of time yet that the parents would spend away from Alethea, who was nearly a year old now.

In the end, she had relented, knowing that the Watsons would take good care of her as they always did. They were very good about sending frequent calls, texts, photos and videos, most of the latter two consisting of four-year-old Emma either playing with or cuddling her best mate. But the stronger reason was the reason her husband had given for this at-first seemingly out-of-the-blue vacation.

Molly was brought out of her reverie by Sherlock turning them again so that she lay atop him. She shrieked in surprise as he chuckled; she laughed as well before looking at him dreamily. "Ten years…" she breathed, tracing his beautiful face with her fingers. "Wow…"

"I concur," murmured Sherlock, his hands running lazily up and down her back. "Ten years ago today, we met and our world's changed."

"Well, technically, that's true," said Molly innocently, but her eyes said otherwise. "I knew that from the first moment you spoke to me and demanded a foot. You and that genius brain of yours, however, took a teensy weensy bit longer to catch up."

Sherlock punished her with a tickle to her sides, but was relieved that no bitterness was mixed in with the playfulness. How this extraordinary woman had endured years of being ignored, looked over, deduced, and being the victim of his own stupidity as his head caught up with his heart…Well, Sherlock accepted that he fought on the side of the angels, but his wife couldn't be anything _but _an angel.

When she'd calmed down from her laughter brought on by his tickles, Molly looked at him tenderly again. "God…think of how much has changed since that first meeting…"

Slowly, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and sat them both up, so she straddled his lap. He could feel that they were both more than ready to be joined again. "I'd say for the better, wouldn't you agree?" he asked, his voice very deep.

Molly could only nod, linking her hands behind his neck as he deliciously entered her. She closed her eyes and gave a luxurious moan, throwing her head back a bit. When Molly locked eyes with her husband again, their intimate physical closeness and the conversation they'd just been having caught up with them. In their mind's eye, both saw their ten-year-long relationship flash through their minds quickly but in great detail. And both were left in absolute awe about how, in a decade, they had gone from barely acquaintances to the other's entire world, both growing so much along the way.

This revelation left both feeling full to the brim, really overflowing, with love. Their lips met in a powerful kiss before they just held each other for a while.

They are one, and always would be, never to be parted again.

* * *

**A/N: **_And that, my faithful followers, is that! Wow, what a fluffy and wonderful journey this has been. My sincerest and deepest gratitude to all of you – over four hundred reviews, wow! You'll hear from me again hopefully soon. One more chapter of "A New Life" to go, and I've got plenty more ideas to make into stories. So, au revoir!_


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